THE 

OLD  COLONY  TOWN 

AND  THE  AMBIT 
OF  BUZZARDS  BAY 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


THE    OLD    COLONY   TOWN 
AND   OTHER  SKETCHES 


BY 


WILLIAM    ROOT  BLISS 

AUTHOR  OF  COLONIAL  TIMES  ON 
BUZZARD'S  BAY 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


1893 


Copyright,  1893, 
BY  WILLIAM   ROOT  BLISS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.  .U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


192628 


CONTENTS. 


THE  OLD  COLONY  TOWN  . 

THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

LIFE  ON  MATIN icus  ROCK 

OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

A  DAY  ON  THE  SHORE 

OLD  COLONY  WITCH  STORIES 

A  THANKSGIVING 

SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE  . 

THE  MIND  OF  MY  DOG 

DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS 

THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A  WRECK 

SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A  JINRIKISHA  . 


PAGE 

35 
63 
79 
93 
101 

•  "5 

I25 

.  147 

163 
.  179 

191 
.  203 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 


THE   OLD   COLONY   TOWN 


COMING  up  from  Buzzard's  Bay  through 
the  woods,  I  get  my  first  view  of  the  spires 
of  Plymouth  from  the  top  of  a  hill.  The 
town  lies  on  a  sloping  plain  between  the  sea 
and  a  range  of  pine-covered  hills,  which,  be 
ginning  behind  it,  extend  about  thirty  miles 
in  a  southeasterly  direction  and  end  on  the 
Atlantic  Ocean. 

It  is  easy  to  discover  that  the  thing  which 
the  town  lacks  is  a  steady  harbor ;  one  that 
will  stay  at  home  all  day  and  not  go  away 
at  night.  Whenever  the  tide  runs  out,  the 
harbor  runs  out  also,  leaving  in  its  place 
broad,  oozy  flats  which  offer  good  pickings 
to  plover,  whose  flying  cry  is  a  startling  note 
among  the  sounds  of  a  summer  night. 
Through  the  ooze  wind  narrow  channels  of 
shallow  water  to  the  sea.  By  the  deepest  of 
these  the  distance  is  about  eight  miles  from 
the  Gurnet  Lights,  at  the  entrance  of  the 


4  THE   OLD   COLONY    TOWN 

harbor,  to  Plymouth  Rock.  If  the  Rock 
could  attract  the  sea  as  it  attracts  sight 
seers,  the  Old  Colony  Town  would  have  a 
respectable  harbor,  and  might  call  itself  the 
pleasantest  for  situation  of  any  town  on  the 
coast  of  Massachusetts. 

Every  day  in  summer  a  steamboat  comes 
from  Boston,  and  pours  ashore  a  multitude 
of  men,  women,  and  children,  who  pass  by 
the  hackmen  in  waiting,  and  rush  to  the 
Rock.  A  steamboat  made  the  same  voyages 
more  than  half  a  century  ago  ;  but  it  brought 
no  pilgrims.  Now  they  constitute  a  daily 
show,  which  serves  to  entertain  the  loungers 
who  are  sitting  atop  of  Cole's  Hill  watching 
the  modern  pilgrims  as  they  hasten  to  their 
shrine.  They  walk  around  the  Rock ;  they 
put  their  hands  on  it ;  they  gaze  at  it ;  they 
spell  aloud  the  inscription,  "1620;"  they 
step  across  it ;  they  stand  still  on  it  and 
make  good  resolutions ;  and  I  have  seen 
respectable-looking  men  and  women  meet 
on  it,  and  kiss  each  other. 

It  is  difficult  to  explain  this  fetichism, 
which  besets  not  only  the  multitudes  coming 
by  sea,  but  those  also  who  come  in  railroad 
trains  from  distant  parts  of  the  country. 


THE   OLD  COLONY   TOWN  5 

Plymouth  Rock,  elevated  into  the  protection 
of  iron  pickets  and  gates,  sheltered  from  sun 
and  rain  by  a  granite  canopy,  has  become  to 
strangers  and  wayfarers  a  curiosity  as  ex 
traordinary  as  a  mermaid  or  a  flying  horse 
would  be. 

Looking  eastward  from  the  Rock,  you  see 
a  long  sand  spit  stretching  out  from  the 
south  shore.  It  keeps  the  sea  swells  from 
rolling  over  the  harbor  when  the  harbor  is 
in.  It  was  once  covered  with  trees  ;  and  a 
town-meeting  of  the  year  1702,  considering 
"the  grat  damage  likly  to  accrew  the  har 
bour  by  cutting  down  the  pine  trees  at  the 
beach,"  did  order  "  that  henceforth  Noe  pine 
trees  shall  be  felled  on  forfiture  of  5  shil 
lings  pr  tree  &  that  Noe  man  shall  set  aney 
fire  on  sd  beach  on  forfiture  of  5  shillings 
per  time."  Now  there  is  not  a  tree  on  it. 
People  go  there  for  fish  dinners  and  picnics, 
and  to  set  fires  for  clambakes.  A  little 
steamboat  named  "  Mary  Chilton "  carries 
sight-seers  to  the  beach ;  an  electric  car 
named  "  Mary  Chilton  "  carries  them  through 
the  streets  ;  and  Chiltonville  is  a  little  vil 
lage  near  by.  The  Chilton  name  is  an  incan 
tation  in  the  Old  Colony  Town. 


6  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

I  asked  a  deck-hand,  as  we  were  steaming 
to  the  beach  for  a  dinner,  "Who  is  Mary 
Chilton  ?  Does  she  own  this  steamboat  ?  " 
He  did  not  know ;  he  had  been  aboard  only 
two  months.  I  went  up  to  the  pilot-house, 
and,  leaning  into  the  window,  I  asked  the 
captain  :  "  Who  is  Mary  Chilton  ?  "  He 
gave  me  a  quizzical  look.  "  She  was  the 
first  woman,"  said  he,  "  that  landed  on  the 
Rock."  "Is  that  true?"  I  replied.  "Did 
they  land  on  the  Rock  ?  The  mate  of  the 
Mayflower  was  a  seaman  ;  don't  you  think 
he  ran  his  boat  right  on  the  sand  ?  Then 
the  passengers  jumped  out,  and  he  hauled 
her  up.  Just  as  you  would  do  it  if  you  had 
pulled  a  boat  to  Plymouth  Beach.  You 
would  n't  lay  her  alongside  a  rock  to  rub  her 
paint  off?"  The  captain  looked  straight  at 
me,  and  said  :  "  Where  did  you  get  your  in 
formation  ?  " 

That  is  a  question  which  should  be  put 
to  all  writers  who,  through  the  media  of 
romance  and  tradition,  have  been  weaving 
fables  into  the  history  of  the  Old  Colony 
Town. 

Up  to  the  year  1741,  this  famous  Rock, 
which  is  now  the  magnet  of  the  town,  rested 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  7 

on  the  shore  unnoticed.  It  was  in  the  way 
of  commerce,  and  some  persons  having,  as 
the  phrase  of  the  time  was,  "  Libertie  to 
Whorfe  downe  into  the  sea,"  were  about  to 
cover  it  with  a  wharf.  Then  Thomas  Faunce, 
ninety-four  years  old,  came  up  from  the  back 
country  and  protested,  and  told  the  wharf- 
builders  that  his  father  told  him  when  he 
was  a  boy  that  the  Mayflower  passengers 
landed  on  the  Rock.  The  memory  of  a  man 
ninety-four  years  old  is  not  likely  to  be  cor 
rect  in  regard  to  words  spoken  when  he  was 
a  boy.  Moreover,  Faunce's  father  was  not 
a  passenger  in  the  Mayflower,  and  therefore 
he  did  not  tell  this  story  to  his  son  from 
a  personal  knowledge  of  the  landing.  The 
wharf  was  built ;  and  the  Rock  eventually 
became  the  doorstep  of  a  warehouse. 

During  Faunce's  lifetime  some  of  the  pas 
sengers  by  the  Mayflower  were  his  towns 
men  ;  and  some  of  these  were  in  the  shallop 
which  came  to  the  shore  from  Clark's  Island 
on  the  i  ith  of  December,  1620.  There  were 
no  women  in  that  boat,  and  it  is  not  known 
when  any  women  were  landed  from  the  ship. 
The  only  record  of  the  first  landing  is  in 
these  words  :  "  They  sounded  ye  harbor  & 


8  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

founde  it  fitt  for  shipping,  and  marched  into 
ye  land  &  found  diverse  cornfeilds  &  little 
runing  brooks,  a  place  fitt  for  situation  ;  at 
least  it  was  ye  best  they  could  find."  From 
what  point  on  the  shore  the  men  who  were 
prospecting  for  the  colony  "  marched  into  ye 
land  "  is  not  known.  Romance  and  a  vague 
tradition  have  designated  this  Rock,  the  only 
boulder  on  the  shore  ;  but  its  remoteness 
from  the  island  seems  to  forbid  the  supposi 
tion  that  the  shallop  went  so  far  away  from 
its  direct  course  to  find  a  landing  place. 

And  yet  there  is  some  reason  for  believing 
the  story  of  the  Rock.  Faunce  was  born  in 
the  year  1647.  He  was  therefore  ten  years 
old  when  Governor  Bradford  died,  twenty-six 
years  old  when  John  Rowland  died,  thirty-six 
years  old  when  Samuel  Fuller  died,  thirty- 
seven  years  old  when  Henry  Samson  and 
Samuel  Eaton  died,  forty  years  old  when 
John  Alden  and  Elizabeth  Tilley  died.  All 
these  persons  were  passengers  in  the  May 
flower,  and  some  of  them  were  in  the  shallop 
when  the  first  landing  was  made.  When 
Faunce  related  his  story,  the  landing  was 
not  so  ancient  an  event  as  to  have  lost  its 
traditionary  details  ;  and  he  may  have  told 


THE  OLD   COLONY   TOWN  9 

what  was  already  known  to  others,  who,  feel 
ing  that  whether  their  ancestors  landed  on  a 
rock,  or  on  the  beach,  was  a  matter  of  no 
importance,  did  not  trouble  themselves  to 
come  forth  and  confirm  Faunce's  story. 

To  get  a  good  view  of  the  Old  Colony 
Town  and  its  surroundings,  you  must  go  to 
the  crown  of  Burial  Hill.  Here  a  charming 
prospect  of  sea  and  shore  is  opened,  on  a 
sunny  day  when  the  tide  is  full.  It  embraces 
the  whole  scene  of  explorations  made  by  the 
Pilgrims  from  the  time  when  the  Mayflower 
anchored  in  Cape  Cod  Harbor  until  she  dis 
charged  her  passengers  on  Plymouth  strand. 
Looking  eastward,  your  eyes  rest  upon  the 
glittering  expanse  of  Cape  Cod  Bay,  and  you 
may  think  of  the  tearful  eyes  in  "new  pli- 
moth  "  when,  after  a  five  months'  anchorage 
in  the  harbor,  the  Mayflower  was  seen  from 
this  lookout  to  spread  her  sails  and  slip  across 
the  bay  for  England,  leaving  behind  her 
those  who  were  fast  bound  by  a  seven  years' 
contract  with  the  Adventurers  in  London. 
There  is  not  a  sail  in  sight,  and  you  may 
imagine  yourself  to  be  one  of  the  homesick 
colonists  posted  on  the  hill  to  watch  for  a 
ship  long  expected  from  the  English  home. 


10  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

After  your  eyes  get  accustomed  to  the  dis 
tant  range,  you  notice  on  the  eastern  horizon 
a  patch  of  gray  color.  It  is  the  barren, 
sandy  highland  of  Cape  Cod,  which,  when 
the  Mayflower  arrived,  was  "  compassed  about 
to  the  very  sea  with  oaks,  pines,  juniper,  sas 
safras,  and  other  sweet  wood."  Below  you 
is  the  town  sloping  away  to  the  wharves, 
where  three  or  four  schooners  are  moored. 
To  the  right  the  coast  trends  off  in  bluffs. 
Opposite  these,  on  the  left,  Duxbury  Beach 
comes  down  and  ends  in  a  promontory  which 
holds  up  the  Gurnet  Lights.  The  quaint 
name  of  this  point  of  land  was  in  old  times 
"  the  gurnetts  nose ; "  and  if  you  should 
sketch  the  facial  features  of  the  shore  in 
continuation  from  it,  Elisha's  Point,  with  the 
bluffs  of  Manomet  Hill,  would  form  the  lip 
and  chin,  and  the  channel  above  would  be 
the  open  mouth  of  Plymouth.  The  nose 
was  covered  with  trees  when  Englishmen 
saw  it  in  1620.  A  description  of  lot  bounda 
ries,  written  seventy-five  years  later,  men 
tions  the  names  of  trees  growing  there  :  wal 
nuts,  poplars,  cedars,  and  hornbeam,  which 
was  a  hard  wood  used  for  the  keels  of  ships. 
A  town  meeting  in  1630  ordered  that  the 


THE   OLD   COLONY   TOWN  II 

trees  of  "  gurnetts  nose  bee  Reserved  for  the 
use  of  a  minnester  onely  John  Smith  the 
boates  man  att  Plymouth  hath  libertie  this 
yeare  to  fech  what  he  needeth."  What  John 
Smith  had  done  to  entitle  him  to  free  fire 
wood  does  not  appear.  But  the  "minnester  " 
was  the  famous  Roger  Williams,  unto  whom 
the  town  gave  "  for  this  year  "  sixty  pounds 
to  live  on,  besides  the  trees. 

Leaving  these  things  out  of  mind,  look  at 
the  tortuous  channels  of  the  harbor  as  the 
tide  is  running  out,  and  you  may  wonder 
how  it  happened  that  a  boat  from  the  May 
flower,  carrying  "  10  of  their  principall  men 
and  some  sea  men,"  got  safely  into  the  har 
bor  during  a  northeast  gale,  and  found  way 
to  an  anchorage  "under  ye  lee  of  a  smalle 
iland,"  when  "it  was  very  darke  and  rained 
sore."  The  island  was  at  that  time  thickly 
wooded ;  afterwards  it  became  a  valuable 
part  of  the  town's  assets,  rented  for  the  mak 
ing  of  salt,  for  a  sheep  pasture,  or  for  a  fish 
ing  station ;  the  tenants  being  forbidden  to 
carry  off  any  wood  "  except  to  keep  fier  in 
theire  boates."  When  in  the  year  1688  the 
officers  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros  announced 
that  conveyances  of  land  made  by  the  In- 


12  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

dians  were  worth  no  more  than  the  scratch 
of  a  bear's  paw,  and  they  required  the  select 
men  to  appear  before  him  "to  make  out 
their  title  "  to  the  island,  the  Old  Colony 
Town  resisted  Andros,  and  by  the  cost  of  so 
doing  was  compelled  "  to  make  saile  "  of  it. 

The  island  is  in  plain  view  from  Burial 
Hill.  As  an  old  surveyor  said,  it  is  "  bearing 
from  the  meeting-house  in  Plymouth  north 
by  northeast  about  three  miles."  It  is  enti 
tled  to  fame  because  upon  it  New  England 
history  began,  Saturday  night,  December  the 
ninth,  in  the  year  1620.  The  frightened 
men  aboard  the  shallop,  says  William  Brad 
ford,  who  was  one  of  them,  "  knew  not  this 
to  be  an  iland  till  morning."  However,  he 
says,  they  "  got  ashore  &  with  much  adoe  got 
fire,  all  things  being  so  wett ;  "  then,  "  after 
midnight  ye  wind  shifted  to  the  northwest  & 
it  frose  hard." 

"  And  this  being  the  last  day  of  ye  weeke," 
says  the  narrative,  "they  prepared  ther  to 
keepe  ye  Sabath,"  on  the  island  ;  thus  laying 
the  corner-stone  in  a  foundation  on  which 
New  England  was  to  be  built.  For  "  a  great 
hope  &  inward  zeall  they  had  of  laying  some 
good  foundation,  though  they  should  be  but 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  13 

even  as  stepping-stones  unto  others."  Ora 
tors  who  are  apt  to  say,  after  dinner,  that 
these  men  "  builded  wiser  than  they  knew," 
do  not  seem  to  be  aware  that  they  did  not 
build  at  all.  They  attempted  to  lay  a  foun 
dation  only,  and  upon  this  their  posterity  con 
structed  what  now  exists. 

The  oldest  date  cut  in  any  stone  on  the 
hill  is  1 68 1.  It  marks  the  grave  of  Edward 
Gray,  who  was  in  his  time  the  richest  mer 
chant  of  the  colony.  His  name  was  fre 
quently  written  in  the  town  records,  in 
which  for  once  only  was  he  called  "  Good 
man  Gray."  The  amount  of  his  town  tax 
indicates  that  his  trading  transactions  were 
large,  the  tax  being  "  for  six  score  pound  " 
in  profits,  while  no  other  trader  was  taxed  in 
the  same  year  for  more  than  ten  pounds ; 
and  James  Cole,  the  innkeeper,  whose  daily 
business  would  naturally  be  more  active  than 
that  of  a  trader,  was  taxed  for  eighty  pounds. 
The  warehouse  of  this  foremost  merchant 
was  situated  "att  Rockey  Nooke  by  the 
water-syde."  The  name  only  is  there  to-day. 
In  the  year  1670  he  was  the  owner  of  three 
of  the  seven  fishing-smacks  then  hailing  from 
Plymouth.  Successful  as  he  was,  he  could 


14  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

not  write  his  own  name ;  a  deficiency  which 
he  shared  with  many  prominent  men  and  wo 
men  in  New  England.  Nathaniel  Morton, 
Secretary  of  the  Colony  Court,  could  write, 
but  his  four  married  daughters  could  not,  nor 
could  the  wife  of  Governor  Bradford.  The 
education. of  women  was  not  regarded  with 
universal  favor  in  the  Old  Colony  Town. 
Mr.  Davis,  in  his  "  Ancient  Landmarks  of 
Plymouth,"  says  that  in  the  year  1793  a  pro 
ject  to  establish  a  school  for  girls  was  op 
posed  because  it  might  teach  wives  how  to 
correct  their  husbands'  errors  in  spelling. 
The  schoolmaster  was  never  abroad  in  Colo 
nial  New  England.  Records  written  by  town 
officers  and  accounts  written  in  private  fami 
lies  are  miserably  illiterate,  and  are  the  evi 
dences  of  a  very  meagre  instruction  given  to 
children  in  common  schools.  Up  to  the  be 
ginning  of  this  century  these  schools,  judged 
by  their  results,  were  a  disgrace  to  civiliza 
tion.1 

1  If  by  any  chance  the  Braintree  village  school  of  even  a 
period  so  late  as  1790  could  for  a  single  fortnight  have 
been  brought  back  to  the  Quincy  of  1890,  parents  would 
in  horror  and  astonishment  have  kept  their  children  at 
home  until  a  town  meeting,  called  at  the  shortest  possible 
legal  notice,  could  be  held ;  and  this  meeting  would  proba- 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  15 

John  Rowland,  of  whom  the  Colony  re 
cords  say  "  He  was  the  last  man  that  was 
left  of  those  that  came  over  in  the  ship  called 
the  Mayflower,"  lived  near  Edward  Gray  at 
Rockey  Nooke,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been 
buried  in  the  hill.  No  one  knows  where  he 
was  buried.  The  inscription  on  the  stone  set 
up  to  his  memory  by  a  far-away  descendant 
is  a  curious  example  of  the  untrustworthy 
nature  of  tradition.  It  says,  on  the  authority 
of  tradition,  that  he  married  the  daughter 
of  Governor  Carver.  The  discovery  of  Brad 
ford's  manuscript  history  of  "  Plimouth 
Plantation,"  which  in  the  year  1855  was 
found  in  the  library  of  the  Bishop  of  Lon 
don,  disclosed  the  fact  that  the  tradition  and 
the  inscription  on  the  stone  were  not  true. 
"John  Rowland  married  the  daughter  of 
John  Tillie,  Elizabeth,  and  have  10  children 
now  all  living,"  wrote  Bradford  in  the  year 
1650. 

It  is  not  probable  that  any  of  the  May 
flower  passengers  were  buried  in  this  hill. 

bly  have  culminated  in  a  riot,  in  the  course  of  which  school- 
house  as  well  as  school  would  have  been  summarily  abated 
as  a  disgrace  and  a  nuisance.  —  Three  Episodes  of  Massa 
chusetts  History,  by  Charles  Francis  Adams,  p.  782. 


1 6  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

In  John  Rowland's  time,  and  long  before,  it 
was  the  custom  to  bury  the  dead  in  the  lands 
belonging  to  their  homestead,  where  the 
burial  was  done  with  no  ceremony  of  any 
kind  ;  earth  to  earth,  without  even  a  prayer. 
The  custom  of  burying  in  the  homestead 
land  still  exists  in  New  England.  Many  of 
the  Mayflower  company  who  died  within  the 
colony  were  probably  buried  in  their  own 
farms,  and  for  this  reason  their  graves  are 
now  unknown.  Where  were  the  forty-four 
buried  who  died  in  the  winter  of  1621,  when 
there  were  no  farms  in  Plymouth  ?  The  si 
lence  of  the  records  on  this  subject  is  remark 
able. 

As  the  "  common  house"  in  which  the 
colonists  worshiped  stood,  until  the  year 
1637,  at  the  foot  of  Cole's  Hill,  this  hill  be 
came  the  churchyard,  according  to  a  custom 
of  Old  England.  The  Pilgrims  were  not, 
like  the  Puritans,  hostile  to  English  customs. 
Their  life  in  Holland  weaned  them  from  the 
English  church,  but  it  did  not  nurture  in 
them  that  hatred  of  England  which  was 
shown  by  the  Puritans  of  the  Massachusetts 
Bay  Colony,  who,  as  Mr.  Palfrey  says,  "  had 
grown  to  be  of  one  mind  respecting  the  duty 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  17 

of  rejecting  the  whole  constitution  of  the 
English  establishment."  Four  skeletons 
which  were  exhumed  from  this  hill  in  the 
year  1854,  and  are  now  lying  in  the  chamber 
of  the  granite  canopy  that  stands  over  the 
Rock,  were  certified  by  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  to  be  the  skeletons  of  Caucasians. 
This  discovery  supports  the  theory  that  Cole's 
Hill  was  the  first  burying  place  of  the  colo 
nists.  It  has  been  said  that  graves  on  the 
hill  were  leveled  and  sown  with  grain  to  con 
ceal  from  Indians  the  losses  of  the  colony. 
The  tender  sentiment  of  this  poetic  and  oft- 
repeated  statement  is  dispelled  by  the  fact 
that  the  neighboring  Indians  were  friendly  ; 
and  if  they  desired  to  know,  it  was  easy  to 
ascertain  what  the  losses  had  been  by  count 
ing  the  heads  of  the  survivors. 

In  the  year  1637,  a  house  for  religious 
worship  was  built  at  the  foot  of  Burial  Hill. 
After  that  date  this  hill  became  the  church 
yard  ;  but  the  first  recorded  mention  of  it  as 
a  place  of  graves  is  in  the  diary  of  Judge 
Sewall,  when  he  was  holding  court  at  Ply 
mouth  in  March,  1698 :  "  I  walk  out  in  the 
morn  to  see  the  mill,  then  turn  up  to  the 
graves,  come  down  to  the  meeting-house  and 


1 8  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

seeing  the  door  partly  open  went  in."  The 
fact  that  there  are  but  five  stones  on  the  hill 
dated  before  the  year  1700  is  conclusive  that 
many  of  the  dead  were  buried  in  the  lands 
on  which  they  had  lived ;  and  the  recent  dis 
covery  of  the  graves  of  Myles  Standish  and 
his  daughter  Lora,  in  Duxbury,  confirms  this 
conclusion. 

Get  into  an  electric  car  on  its  run  through 
Main  Street  to  Kingston,  and  it  will  carry 
you  to  Pilgrim  Hall,  a  plain  granite  building 
which  was  erected  many  years  ago,  "  in  grate 
ful  remembrance  of  our  ancestors  who  exiled 
themselves  from  their  native  country  for  the 
sake  of  religion,"  as  a  plate  in  its  corner 
stone  says. 

Although  this  museum  contains  many  arti 
cles  whose  antiquity  and  associations  make 
them  interesting  to  an  intelligent  visitor,  it  is 
not  irreverent  to  say  that  some  of  the  things 
enshrined  therein  remind  me  of  the  contents 
of  a  curiosity  shop,  wherein  are  to  be  found 
the  odds  and  ends  gathered  from  various 
garrets.  A  museum  established  "in  grate 
ful  remembrance  of  our  ancestors"  should 
not  be  a  receptacle  of  rubbish.  Rubbish  is 
anything  in  the  wrong  place.  Many  things 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  19 

which  (like  the  human  skulls  and  bones  from 
Florida  exhibited  in  this  Hall)  may  be  of 
great  interest  elsewhere  are  out  of  place  in  a 
museum  whose  principal  claim  to  exist  is  that 
it  represents  the  life  and  times  of  the  first 
colonists  of  Plymouth.  Here  are,  for  exam 
ple,  Malay  daggers,  Algerine  pistols,  Chinese 
coins,  South  Sea  shells,  and  a  spoke  from  a 
wheel  of  John  Hancock's  carriage.  Here  is 
"  a  pair  of  spectacles  which  belonged  to  Cap 
tain  Benjamin  Church,"  through  which  that 
gallant  soldier  may  have  looked  on  King 
Philip,  whom  he  slew ;  and  here  is  an  empty 
pocket-book  labeled  "  which  always  belonged 
to  the  Church  family,"  from  which  the  visitor 
may  conclude  that  the  family  is  now  extinct. 
Here  are  the  dirk-knife,  musket,  and  pistol 
of  one  John  Thompson.  Here  is  the  sword 
of  "  Perigrine  White's  grandson,"  also  a  hay 
fork  from  Bunker  Hill,  and  the  remnant  of 
a  hoe  which  was  dug  from  the  cellar  of  the 
Old  Colony  trading-house  on  Manomet  River. 
The  human  feeling  which  refuses  to  forget 
the  past  is  easily  led  astray  in  its  estimate  of 
the  value  of  relics. 

A  needle-worked  sampler  embroidered  by 
Miss  Lora  Standish  is  interesting  evidence  of 


20  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

a  delicate  industry  in  her  father's  house.  A 
personal  interest  attaches  to  a  sword  which 
belonged  to  Myles  Standish,  and  to  an  iron 
pot  in  which  his  succotash  was  probably 
cooked  ;  to  a  dressing-case  and  cane  which 
belonged  to  William  White,  suggesting  that 
he  may  have  been  the  Beau  Brummel  of  the 
colony  ;  to  a  gourd-shell  which  belonged  to 
George  Soule ;  to  a  silver  canteen  and  sev 
eral  pewter  platters  which  belonged  to  Ed 
ward  Winslow;  to  a  Bible  owned  by  Isaac 
Allerton,  and  another  owned  by  John  Alden. 
These  are  interesting  relics  because  their 
owners  were  passengers  in  the  Mayflower. 

Two  large  arm-chairs  on  exhibition  are 
said  to  have  been  imported  by  William  Brew- 
ster  and  John  Carver.  A  writer  in  the 
"  North  American  Review "  of  September, 
1817,  speaks  of  "  sitting  in  Governor  Carver's 
arm-chair  in  the  barber's  shop  at  Plymouth." 
From  this  ignoble  place  the  chair  has  been 
elevated  to  a  glass  case  in  Pilgrim  Hall.  But 
its  life  in  the  barber's  shop  causes  me  to 
doubt  its  pedigree.  Mayflower  arm-chairs 
are  so  numerous  in  New  England  that  the 
ship  has  been  spoken  of  as  having  been 
employed  in  the  arm-chair  trade.  The  Old 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  21 

Colony  Records  contain  inventories,  begin 
ning  in  the  year  1633,  of  all  property  brought 
to  Plymouth  by  passengers  from  over  the  sea, 
including  house  furniture,  wearing  apparel, 
and  tilling  utensils.  They  reveal  the  fact  that 
much  of  the  reputed  cargo  of  the  Mayflower 
was  imported  many  years  after  her  arrival. 
Previous  to  the  year  1660  there  was  no  arti 
cle  of  china  ware  in  the  colony.  Neverthe 
less  I  have  seen  a  teapot,  sold  by  auc 
tion,  which  was  described  as  brought  from 
Holland  by  Elder  Brewster ;  and  in  Pil 
grim  Hall  I  saw  a  "china  teapot,"  labeled, 
"  which  belonged  to  one  William  Foord  who 
was  the  son  of  Widow  Foord  which  came  over 
in  the  ship  Fortune."  This  ship  arrived  at 
Plymouth  in  the  year  1621.  The  widow  "  was 
delivered  of  a  sonne  the  first  night  shee 
landed,"  as  Edward  Winslow  wrote ;  and 
Russell's  "  Memorial  "  states  that  the  teapot 
belonged  to  the  widow.  But  it  is  certain  that 
neither  Elder  Brewster  nor  Widow  Foord 
had  a  china  teapot. 

In  a  list  of  stores  necessary  for  a  voyage 
from  England  to  the  Plymouth  Colony,  beer 
and  spirits  are  mentioned,  but  no  tea.  "  For 
hot  waters,  Anni-seed  water  is  the  best/' 


22  THE   OLD   COLONY   TOWN 

wrote  Winslow  to  those  intending  to  come. 
Tea  is  first  mentioned  in  the  English  lan 
guage  by  Samuel  Pepys,  who  wrote  in  his 
diary,  September  25,  1660:  "I  did  send  for 
a  cup  of  tee  (a  china  drink)  of  which  I  never 
had  drunk  before."  Four  years  later,  the 
East  India  Company  gave  to  the  King  as 
"raretys  2  Ib.  2  oz.  of  thea."  Then  its  value 
in  England  was  from  six  to  ten  pounds  ster 
ling  for  a  pound's  weight.  There  could  have 
been  no  tea  in  Plymouth  until  long  after 
that  date. 

In  those  times  stools  were  in  general  use, 
and  an  arm-chair  was  a  luxury.  The  num 
ber  of  arm-chairs  in  the  inventories  up  to 
the  year  1650  is  smaller  than  the  number 
claimed  to  have  been  in  the  Mayflower's 
freight.  There  is  a  chair  which  is  said  to 
have  been  brought  over  by  Edward  Winslow 
and  to  have  been  screwed  to  the  floor  of  the 
Mayflower's  cabin,  and  another  which  is  said 
to  have  been  brought  over  by  William  Brad 
ford,  and  another  by  Richard  Warren  in  the 
same  ship.  None  of  these  chairs  are  ele 
gant  specimens  of  cabinet  work  when  com 
pared  with  arm-chairs  now  in  use.  The  im 
porters  were  poor  men  :  — 


THE   OLD   COLONY   TOWN  23 

Full  humble  were  their  meals, 

Their  dainties  very  few ; 
'T  was  only  ground-nuts,  clams,  or  eels, 

When  these  old  chairs  were  new." 


These  lines  recall  a  complaint  made  by 
the  colonists  about  their  larder.  It  is  re 
corded  that  in  the  spring  of  1623  they  had  a 
famine.  The  record  of  it  says :  "  All  ther 
victails  were  spente,  and  at  night  not  many 
times  knowing  wher  to  have  a  bitt  of  any 
thing  ye  next  day."  The  same  record  says 
it  was  "bass  and  such  like  fish"  that  they 
had  to  eat ;  also  "  shelfish,  which  at  low 
water  they  digged  out  of  ye  sands."  They 
also  had  "  ground  nuts  and  foule,"  and  they 
"gott  now  &  then  a  dear." 

All  the  while  before  the  town  lay  a  fish- 
full  sea ;  wild  fowl  flocked  to  the  shores ; 
shellfish  of  all  kinds  abounded  in  banks  and 
shoals  daily  uncovered  by  the  tides ;  par 
tridges  and  turkeys  were  to  be  trapped  in 
the.  surrounding  woods  ;  and  alewives  came 
up  from  the  South  Sea,  as  they  come  now, 
to  leave  their  spawn  in  the  numerous  ponds 
within  the  colony  limits.  And  yet  there 
was  a  famine;  and  so  severe  was  it  that 
Elder  Brewster  "lived  for  many  months 


24  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

together  without  bread  and  frequently  on 
fish  alone." 

The  narrative  of  this  peculiar  famine 
shows  that  the  colonists  did  not  know  that 
their  best  heritage  was  the  sea.  Indeed, 
"  fish  alone  "  is  the  only  thing  now  remain 
ing  to  the  Old  Colony  Town  which  belonged 
to  the  time  of  the  Mayflower  people.  Its 
picturesque  streets,  electric  lights,  baseball 
men,  and  tennis  girls  belong  to  the  life  of  its 
present  day.  But  the  delicious  mackerel, 
bass,  lobsters,  and  bivalves  to  be  found  in 
its  neighboring  sea,  have  come  to  us  from 
the  past.  When  Horace  Walpole  saw  in 
imagination  the  ruins  of  the  old  East  India 
House,  he  said  :  "  This  is  Leadenhall  Street, 
and  this  broken  column  was  a  part  of  the 
palace  of  a  company  of  merchants  who  were 
sovereigns  of  Bengal."  When  I  go  out 
with  "the  boates  man  att  Plymouth,"  I  say: 
"  This  is  Cape  Cod  Bay,  and  this  bay  with 
its  *  bass  and  such  like  fish '  is  a  heritage 
left  to  me  by  a  company  of  pilgrims  who 
were  sovereigns  of  these  shores." 

Let  us  return  to  the  museum.  There  is  a 
skeleton  in  it  of  one  of  the  first  and  best 
friends  of  the  colonists.  When  the  May- 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  25 

flower  arrived  he  was  sachem  of  Cummaquid, 
the  country  bordering  on  what  is  now  Vine 
yard  Sound,  then  called  the  South  Sea.  He 
was  buried  in  his  own  lands,  and  a  large  cop 
per  kettle  which  he  got  from  the  wreck  of  a 
ship  was  placed  over  his  head,  according  to 
his  request.  A  recent  owner  of  the  land 
dug  up  the  sachem's  bones,  his  copper  ket 
tle,  axe,  and  stone  pestle,  and  sent  them  to 
Pilgrim  Hall.  There  you  may  see  his  pol 
ished  ribs,  skull,  and  teeth,  cushioned  in  a 
glass  case,  representing  a  barbaric  taste  of 
the  nineteenth  century  ;  and  you  ask  your 
self,  Why  are  not  the  four  Caucasian  skele 
tons  that  were  exhumed  from  Cole's  Hill, 
and  are  now  hidden  in  the  canopy  over  the 
Rock,  treated  with  similar  distinction  ? 

The  most  remarkable  relic  of  Pilgrim 
times  which  the  museum  contains,  is  the 
frame  of  a  sea-going  vessel  whose  wreck  was 
an  important  event  in  the  early  history  of 
the  colony.  It  is  what  remains  of  the  sloop 
Sparrowhawk,  of  about  seventy  tons,  which, 
in  the  year  1626,  sailed  from  England  "with 
many  passengers  in  her  and  sundrie  goods 
bound  for  Virginia,"  and  was  cast  away  on 
the  sea-coast  of  the  Old  Colony.  "They 


26  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

had  lost  themselves  at  sea,"  as  the  record 
says,  "  either  by  ye  insufficiencie  of  ye  mais- 
ter,  or  his  ilnes,  for  he  was  sick  &  lame  of 
ye  scurvie  so  that  he  could  but  lye  in  ye 
cabin  dore  and  give  direction  ;  or  else  ye 
fear  and  unrulines  of  ye  passengers  were 
such  as  they  made  them  stear  a  course  be- 
tweene  ye  southwest  &  ye  norwest,  that  they 
might  fall  with  some  land,  what  soever  it 
was  they  cared  not.  For  they  had  been  6 
weeks  at  sea,  and  had  no  water,  nor  beere, 
nor  any  woode  left."  And  so  the  ship  ran 
before  a  gale,  stumbling  over  the  shoals  of 
Cape  Cod,  and  was  driven  across  a  sand  bar 
into  a  blind  harbor,  "and  ran  on  a  drie  flat." 
The  shipwrecked  people  heard  some  of  the 
Indians  speak  English,  and  by  them  a  letter 
and  two  of  their  men  were  sent  to  Governor 
Bradford,  who  visited  the  wreck,  and  brought 
its  passengers  and  goods  to  Plymouth.  The 
sands  of  the  sea  covered  the  wreck.  In  the 
course  of  time  the  Nauset  Meadows  were 
formed  over  it.  Therein  it  lay  buried  until 
the  sea  came  up  and  uncovered  it.  Its  oak 
frame  was  dug  out  of  the  bed  in  which  it  had 
lain  nearly  two  hundred  and  forty  years,  and 
now  it  is  standing  on  its  keel  in  Pilgrim 
Hall. 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  27 

The  passengers  by  the  Sparrowhawk  were 
taken  into  the  Plymouth  huts,  and  cared  for 
until  it  was  found  that  they  were  a  bad  lot ; 
then  they  were  packed  off  to  Virginia,  there 
being,  as  Governor  Bradford  wrote,  "  many 
untoward  people  amongst  them."  The  emi 
grants  by  the  Mayflower  may  be  described 
by  the  same  words.  That  ship  brought  a 
miscellaneous  company  of  good,  bad,  and 
indifferent  people.  The  good  were  in  the 
minority  ;  but  they  possessed  the  strength 
of  their  convictions,  and  were  able,  by  their 
skill  in  government,  to  hold  in  check  the 
turbulent  elements  with  which  they  were 
accidentally  associated.  Of  these  immi 
grants  Mr.  Palfrey,  in  his  "  History  of  New 
England,"  says  :  "  Eleven  are  favorably 
known.  The  rest  are  either  known  unfavor 
ably,  or  else  only  by  name."  If  you  desire 
to  boast  that  you  are  descended  from  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  be  sure  that  your  ancestor 
was  one  of  the  eleven. 
\ 

When  we  think  of  Plymouth  of  the  past, 
of  which  no  relic  remains  except  its  town 
records,  a  curious  picture  presents  itself. 
Let  us  imagine  ourselves  to  be  there  in  the 


28  THE   OLD   COLONY   TOWN 

early  part  of  the  last  century.  What  do  we 
see  ?  A  small  number  of  plain  English  fami 
lies,  each  of  which  includes  many  children, 
scattered  over  a  broad  territory  whose  focus 
is  a  little  straggling  village  that  looks  to 
wards  the  sun-rising.  In  the  harbor  three 
or  four  fishing  smacks  are  at  anchor.  A 
sloop  is  having  her  bottom  covered  with  tar 
as  she  lies  on  beam-ends  at  the  "  perpetual 
landing  place,"  which  was  laid  out  "for  ye 
landing  of  wood  and  hay  and  for  laying  ves 
sels  on  shore  upon  any  occation  needful." 
Some  men  in  small  boats  are  to  be  seen 
sounding  over  the  flats,  for  there  is  much 
talk  in  the  village  about  a  "  Tryall  for  the 
making  of  some  beds  of  oysters."  At  Rick- 
ard's  wharf  is  the  sloop  Prosperity  taking  in 
turpentine  and  horses.  Her  bill  of  lading 
may  be  called  a  divine  service  ;  for  it  de 
clares  that  the  cargo  is  "  Shipped  by  the 
Grace  of  God,"  that  the  captain  is  "  Master 
under  God,"  that  the  sloop  is  "  by  God's 
Grace  bound  for  Barbados;"  and  it  ends 
with  this  prayer  :  "  And  so  God  send  the 
good  Ship  to  her  desired  Port  in  Safety. 
Amen." 

The  town's  territory  stretches  from   the 


THE   OLD   COLONY   TOWN  29 

harbor  southward  for  nearly  twenty  miles, 
and  is  covered  by  a  forest.  There  are  many 
tilled  fields,  near  ponds,  in  the  forest  clear 
ings  ;  there  are  cart-paths  and  walk-ways 
which  cross  streams  at  "the  fording  place" 
and  at  "the  stepping  stones."  The  farmers 
occupy  unfinished  and  scantily  furnished 
houses ;  they  wear  homespun  clothes  which 
pass  from  father  to  son,  and  the  fashion  of 
them  is  never  changed.  They  "  milk  ye  pine 
trees  "  to  make  turpentine  and  tar,  which  are 
bartered  to  be  shipped  to  foreign  parts, 
yielding  more  profit  to  the  yeomen  than  do 
their  tilling  lands.  They  are  generally  illit 
erate  and  parsimonious ;  they  drink  deep  of 
alcoholic  liquors  ;  they  disapprove  of  schools 
because  a  school  costs  money ;  they  approve 
of  preaching,  and  agree  "  to  keepe  Contrebu- 
tion  afoot  in  the  Congregation  "  to  maintain 
it,  because  it  is  a  means  of  salvation ;  they 
believe  that  babes  must  be  baptized  in  order 
to  escape  from  a  hell  of  fire  and  brimstone, 
and  they  are  as  religious  on  Sunday  as  the 
Colony  laws  require  them  to  be.  It  is  no 
Arcadian  life  that  these  people  lead.  Their 
habits  are  simple,  but  coarse  ;  and  so  im 
moral  is  the  relation  of  sexes  that  illegiti- 


30  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

mate  children  are  numerous ;  and  confessions 
of  "  the  sin  of  fornication  before  marriage  " 
are  made  in  public  assemblies  of  the  church.1 
One  day  there  comes  a  stirring  and  a 
buzzing  in  the  village.  It  is  not  considered 
proper  for  Doctor  Le  Baron  to  practice  any 
longer  the  obstetric  art ;  and  the  selectmen 
have  summoned  the  women  of  the  town  to 
assemble  at  the  meeting-house  and  elect 
from  themselves  four  midwives.  These  wives 
are  persons  of  much  importance,  whose 
services  are  in  frequent  demand.  They  rule 
the  birth-house  for  the  time  being,  and  on 
the  first  Sunday  after  birth  they  carry  the 
babe  to  the  meeting-house  and  present  it  to 
the  minister  for  baptism,  however  cold  and 
stormy  the  day  may  be.  The  "  child  shrank 

1  I  think  it  not  unsafe  to  assert  that  during  the  eight 
eenth  century  the  inhabitants  of  New  England  did  not 
enjoy  a  high  reputation  for  sexual  morality.  Lord  Dart 
mouth,  for  instance,  who,  as  Secretary  for  the  colonies,  had 
charge  of  American  affairs,  in  one  of  his  conversations 
with  Governor  Hutchinson,  referred  to  the  commonness  of 
illegitimate  offspring  "among  the  young  people  of  New 
England,"  as  a  thing  of  accepted  notoriety  ;  nor  did  Hutch 
inson,  than  whom  no  one  was  better  informed  on  all  mat 
ters  relating  to  New  England,  controvert  the  proposition. 
—  Some  Phases  of  Sexual  Morality  and  Church  Discipline 
in  New  England.  By  Charles  Francis  Adams,  p.  24. 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  31 

at  the  water  but  cried  not,"  wrote  Judge 
Sewall,  when  his  son  Stephen,  four  days  old, 
received  what  proved  to  be  the  seal  of  death 
by  baptism  on  a  February  Sunday  in  a  cold 
meeting-house. 

Then  Ephraim  Morton  barters  his  negro, 
described  as  "  being  a  perpetuall  slave  whose 
name  is  Toney,"  for  Joseph  Bartlett's  negro, 
"  a  certain  youth  named  Nedd,"  and  three 
pounds  to  boot.  The  townsfolk  are  not  fond 
of  "  colored  people."  Those  who  own  seats 
in  the  meeting-house,  next  to  the  seats  as 
signed  to  Indians  and  negroes,  have  given 
three  pounds  to  the  selectmen  to  pay  for 
moving  these  objectionable  worshipers  to  a 
place  where  they  can  "  sett  in  Elsewhere.'" 

A  town  meeting  interests  every  townsman 
if  the  weather  is  fair.  It  has  been  adjourned 
because  of  a  stormy  day  ;  also,  as  the  town 
clerk  said,  "  because  few  people  did  apeare  by 
Reason  Maney  wer  at  see  &  others  through 
unavoidable  ocasions  were  hendred."  Once 
it  was  adjourned  because  an  obstinate  quar 
rel  broke  out  on  the  question  of  establishing 
a  school  by  taxation.  There  were  no  free 
schools.  "  Every  scollar  that  Corns  to  wrigh 
or  syfer  or  to  lern  latten  shall  pay  3  pence  pr 


32  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

weke  if  to  Read  only  then  to  pay  3  half  pence 
per  weke,"  says  the  town  record  of  July 
3ist,  1699.  At  these  meetings  a  representa 
tive  to  the  Great  and  General  Court  at  Bos 
ton  is  elected  ;  sometimes,  as  the  town  clerk 
of  the  year  1720  testifies,  "  by  a  very  Eunan- 
omos  voat."  It  is  evident  that  there  were  no 
spelling  bees  in  the  Old  Colony  Town  ;  and 
Dryden's  lines  may  be  quoted  as  a  descrip 
tion  of  the  general  illiterate  state  of  its 
rulers :  — 

"  When  what  small  Knowledge  was,  in  them  did  dwell, 
And  he  a  god,  who  could  but  read  or  spell." 

The  town  meeting  fixes  the  minister's 
salary  and  votes  to  put  "two  Casements"  in 
the  meeting-house  behind  the  pulpit  "  to  let 
in  aree  into  ye  house  ; "  and  this  is  done  with 
out  thinking  of  the  discomfort  which  the  in- 
blowing  air  will  cause  to  the  bald-headed 
preacher.  It  orders  Thomas  Phillips  to  build 
a  gallery  and  "  seat  it  with  Town-born  chil 
dren  "  only,  which  means  "no  niggers."  It 
orders  all  "  sheepe  keept  in  A  General  fflock," 
and  that  "Noe  swine  of  aney  age  or  sort 
What  soe  Ever  shall  Run  on  the  Comons." 
It  votes  that  Elazer  Dunham  shall  be  paid 
forty  shillings  out  of  the  town  treasury  "to 


THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN  33 

get  him  a  greate  coat."  It  gives  notice  that 
a  homespun  "Wastcoat"  having  nineteen 
pewter  buttons  on  it  has  been  "  taken  up  " 
on  the  king's  highway.  It  listens  to  a  com 
plaint  from  "  Divers  people  yt  they  sufered 
Wrong  by  the  111  grinding  their  corn  by  a 
child  That  had  not  Descresion  ;  "  and  it  ap 
points  a  committee  "To  Inform  Capt  Church 
That  they  Will  not  allow  of  that  lad  to  be  ye 
Towns  miller."  They  want  their  corn  to  be 
ground  by  a  man.  These  are  small  things  to 
engage  the  minds  of  British  legislators.  But 
attention  to  small  things  is  characteristic 
of  the  people.  In  their  narrow  and  circum 
scribed  life  there  are  no  large  things  to  be 
dealt  with. 

Every  evening  the  "  saxton  "  rings  "  ye 
9  o'clock  bell,"  in  the  turret  of  the  meeting 
house.  Then  taverns  are  closed,  fires  are 
covered,  candles  are  extinguished,  and  the 
Old  Colony  Town  creeps  into  its  feather  beds. 
The  stillness  of  night  is  disturbed  by  the 
howls  of  a  wolf  in  the  neighboring  forest, 
which  causes  all  the  village  dogs  to  bark.  A 
watchman's  rattle  is  heard,  and  a  flame  of 
fire  may  be  seen  leaping  from  a  thatched 
roof.  Every  house  has  a  ladder  fixed  to  it, 


34  THE   OLD   COLONY  TOWN 

and  two  barrels  of  water  near  it ;  but  no  one 
knows  exactly  what  to  do,  and  the  house  is 
burned  down  rapidly. 

Does  anybody  get  up  early  next  day  with 
an  expectation  that  the  dreary  monotony  of 
colonial  life  is  to  be  broken  by  a  sunrise  ? 
Those  inhabitants  who  have  cattle  to  be  fed, 
or  fish  to  be  caught  on  the  early  tide,  are  up 
betimes  the  morn.  But  the  plodding  mer 
chant,  who  is  waiting  for  his  only  cargo  of 
sugar  and  rum  from  the  West  Indies,  knows 
that  his  sloop  cannot  enter  the  harbor  during 
the  night,  because  there  is  no  lighthouse  on 
the  Gurnets ;  and  the  shrewd  trader  who 
"keeps  store"  knows  that  customers  can 
wait ;  and  the  tired  housewife  says  that  her 
pewter  dishes  need  no  scouring  to-day  ;  that 
the  spinning  wheels  can  be  started  later  on. 
Everybody  has  time  to  spare  in  the  Old 
Colony  Town. 


THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S   BAY 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S   BAY. 


STANDING  on  the  highlands  of  Agawame 
Neck,  I  can  descry  the  ambit  of  the  bay  as 
far  away  as  the  islands  which  are  looming  on 
the  southern  horizon.  As  I  look  on  the  en 
chanting  prospect,  I  want  to  change  one 
word  in  these  lines  from  "  The  Ranger,"  and 
say :  — 

"  Nowhere,  fairer,  sweeter,  rarer, 
Does  the  golden-locked  fruit-bearer 
Through  his  painted  woodlands  stray, 
Than  where  hillside  oaks  and  beeches 
Overlook  the  long,  blue  reaches, 
Silver  coves  and  pebbled  beaches, 
And  green  isles  of  Buzzard's  Bay." 

You  may  recall  the  words  of  Bartholomew 
Gosnold,  who  described  it,  nearly  three  hun 
dred  years  ago,  as  the  "  finest  sound  "  he 
ever  saw.  Ranging  along  on  the  starboard, 
as  our  yacht  comes  in,  are  the  Elizabeth 


38         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARDS  BAY 

Islands,  of  which  the  nearest  to  us  is  Cutty- 
hunk,  containing  five  hundred  acres.  Off  its 
southerly  point  lies  the  Vineyard  Sound 
lightship,  which  sometimes  breaks  adrift 
from  its  moorings  when  a  hard  gale  from  the 
southeast  is  blowing.  Then  schooners  run 
ning  through  the  Sound,  and  missing  this 
landmark,  are  wrecked  on  reefs  called  The 
Sow  and  Pigs,  which  stretch  out  from  the 
south  shore  of  the  island.  Its  surface  is  a 
succession  of  hills  and  valleys  growing  coarse 
grass,  without  a  tree,  or  a  shrub,  or  any  ves 
tige  of  the  "  noble  forests  "  which  Gosnold 
saw,  containing,  as  he  said,  "  the  elegantine 
the  thorn  and  the  honeysuckle  the  wild  pea 
the  tansey  and  young  sassafras  strawberries 
rapsberries  grapevines  all  in  profusion." 
Here  the  stone-walled  cellar  of  Gosnold's 
storehouse  was  identified,  in  the  year  1797, 
as  a  relic  of  the  first  visit  of  Europeans  to 
the  southern  shores  of  New  England.  We 
can  run  into  its  harbor,  which  is  a  good  shel 
ter  in  all  kinds  of  weather  except  a  north 
easter.  A  short  walk  from  the  landing-place 
brings  us  to  a  settlement  of  about  thirty 
houses,  whose  few  inhabitants  depend  upon 
seafaring,  piloting,  and  fishing  for  a  living. 


THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        39 

We  see  a  meeting-house  and  a  school-house, 
and  the  preacher  is  the  school-master.  We 
see  nets  and  sails  spread  on  door-yard  fences 
to  be  dried.  The  only  things  that  cause  an 
excitement  in  this  little  community  are  a 
wreck,  and  the  arrival  of  a  mail-bag  from 
New  Bedford,  which  is  fifteen  miles  distant. 
When  the  mail  arrives,  all  islanders  who  are 
ashore  hurry  to  the  back  door  of  the  post 
master's  house,  and  wait  while  he  takes  up 
each  letter  and  newspaper,  submits  them  to 
the  scrutiny  of  his  spectacles,  and  shouts  the 
written  name  as  soon  as  he  has  spelled  it 
out.  The  owner  of  the  name  answers  the 
call,  and  takes  his  mail  with  approval  from 
the  bystanders. 

Two  miles  northwest  of  Cuttyhunk  lies 
Penikese  Island,  of  one  hundred  acres.  Its 
shape  is  something  like  a  pair  of  eye-glasses  ; 
two  high  hills  representing  the  eyes,  and  a 
narrow  beach,  which  forms  a  harbor,  repre 
senting  the  nose-bow.  In  the  flush  times  of 
whaling,  this  island  was  occupied  by  pilots, 
who  kept  a  steady  lookout  from  the  hills  for 
those  picturesque  old  ships,  deep-laden  with 
sperm  oil,  which  all  the  year  round  came 
lumbering  into  the  bay  bound  to  New  Bed- 


40         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

ford.  In  the  year  1873  the  island  was  trans 
ferred  to  Agassiz's  School  of  Natural  His 
tory.  Whittier  says :  — 

"  On  the  isle  of  Penikese, 
Ringed  about  by  sapphire  seas, 
Fanned  by  breezes  salt  and  cool, 
Stood  the  Master  and  his  school." 

The  school  spent  only  one  summer  on  the 
island,  for  the  Master  died  in  the  end  of  the 
year  ;  and  the  poet  says  :  — 

"  In  the  lap  of  sheltering  seas, 
Rests  the  isle  of  Penikese ; 
But  the  lord  of  the  domain 
Comes  not  to  his  own  again." 

East  of  Cuttyhunk,  and  near  it,  is  Nasha- 
wena  Island,  of  fifteen  hundred  acres,  used 
as  a  sheep  pasture,  and  noted  for  its  beach 
of  rolling  stones.  East  of  Nashawena  lies 
Pasque  Island,  of  a  thousand  acres,  sometimes 
called  Pesquinese.  Its  name  came  from  the 
Indian  Pascechanset,  by  which  it  was  known 
when,  in  the  year  1725,  Abraham  Tucker  of 
Dartmouth,  on  the  western  shore  of  the  bay, 
willed  his  lands  thereon  to  his  son.  The 
island,  bought  from  its  Indian  possessors  in 
the  year  1667,  was  continuously  used  for  the 
rearing  of  sheep  until  it  was  sold  to  a  fishing 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD* S  BAY        41 

club.  While  the  British  occupied  Rhode 
Island  during  the  Revolution,  food  was  for 
aged  frequently  from  Pasque  and  neighboring 
islands.  On  a  day  in  May,  1778,  fifteen  hun 
dred  sheep,  stolen  from  them,  were  landed 
at  Newport  for  the  British  fleet. 

East  of  Pasque  lies  Naushon,  which  is 
seven  miles  long,  and  contains  five  thousand 
five  hundred  acres  ;  the  most  beautiful  island 
estate  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  It  has  two 
harbors,  a  light-house,  old  forests  of  beech, 
oak,  hickory,  pine,  and  cedar  trees.  White 
men  have  possessed  it  since  the  year  1641. 
The  Mayhew  family  owned  it  forty-one  years ; 
the  Winthrop  family,  forty-eight  years;  the 
Bowdoin  family,  one  hundred  and  thirteen 
years.  In  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  of 
the  year  1747,  may  be  seen  the  following  an 
nouncement  :  "  Dy'd  at  Boston  in  New  Eng 
land  Wm.  Bowdine  Esqr.  worth  one  million 
of  their  currency  ;  he  left  two  sons  and  three 
daughters  ;  to  the  former,  150,000  /.  ;  to  the 
other  100,000  /. ;  and  20,000  /.  to  charitable 
uses."  This  man  owned  Naushon.  The 
next  owner  was  his  son  James  Bowdoin,  the 
governor  of  Massachusetts  in  the  years  1785 
and  1786,  who  failed  of  a  third  election 


42          THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

because  of  the  energy  with  which  he  extin 
guished  Shays'  Rebellion.  The  next  owner 
was  his  grandson,  James  Bowdoin,  who  in 
herited  one  half  of  the  island,  and  acquired 
the  other  half  by  marriage  with  a  cousin. 
Near  its  eastern  harbor  he  built  a  stately 
mansion,  and  spread  a  great  feast  in  it  for 
his  friends.  He  died  in  his  chair  at  the  feast, 
while  sounds  of  merriment  were  in  his  ears. 
The  house  was  then  shut  up,  and  it  became 
in  public  imagination  a  haunted  house,  at 
tracting  the  visits  of  curious  idlers  until  the 
agents  of  new  owners  opened  its  doors,  threw 
up  its  windows,  and  let  in  light  and  air  upon 
the  mouldy  scenes. 

An  act  of  the  legislature  of  the  Province, 
in  the  year  1765,  tells  of  the  existence  of 
moose  on  Naushon,  which  was  then  known 
as  "  Tarpolin  Cove  Island  otherwise  called 
Naushon  or  Catamock."  The  owners  of  the 
island  complained  that  "  the  raising  and  in 
crease  of  moose  and  deer  "  were  prevented 
by  hunters  who  landed  to  shoot  the  game, 
or  "  destroyed  it  by  their  dogs."  The  fine 
to  be  levied  on  poachers  was  six  pounds  "  for 
each  and  every  moose  or  deer  ;  "  one  half 
of  it  to  go  to  his  majesty  King  George  the 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        43 

Second,  and  one  half  to  the  informer.  There 
are  deer,  but  no  moose  now  in  the  region  of 
Buzzard's  Bay. 

The  names  of  the  Elizabeth  Islands  have 
been  preserved  in  the  following  old  rhymes, 
whose  origin  is  unknown  :  — 

"  Naushon,  Nonamesset, 
Onkatonka,  and  Wepecket, 
Nashawena,  Pesquinese, 
Cuttyhunk,  and  Penikese." 

An  interesting  reminiscence  of  the  former 
connection  between  Old  England  and  New 
England  is  to  be  found  in  the  names  of 
ancient  towns  adjacent  to  Buzzard's  Bay. 
These  are  Dartmouth,  Rochester,  Wareham, 
Sandwich,  and  Falmouth  ;  names  brought 
from  the  south  of  England  by  men  who  con 
tinued  to  be  Englishmen  in  these  their  new 
homes.  On  the  larboard,  as  a  yacht  enters 
the  bay,  stands  the  Dumpling  Rock  Light, 
pointing  the  way  to  Apponaganset,  the  port 
of  Dartmouth.  The  town's  land  was  bought 
from  the  Wampanoags,  in  the  year  1652,  by 
the  gift  of  30  yards  of  trucking  cloth,  8 
moose  skins,  15  hoes,  15  pairs  of  breeches, 
8  blankets,  2  kettles,  i  clock,  8  pairs  of 
stockings,  8  pairs  of  shoes,  i  iron  pot,  3  /. 


44         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARDS  BAY 

in  wampum,  and  10  shillings'  worth  of  other 
odds  and  ends.  The  variety  of  merchan 
dise  turned  over  to  the  Indians  by  this  trans 
action  was  as  great  as  is  now  to  be  found  in 
an  ordinary  country  store  on  the  bay  shores. 
In  the  same  manner  do  white  men  trade 
with  inferior  races  now. 

During  the  summer  time  the  old  town 
draws  in  many  visitors  ;  and  as  the  south 
wind  comes  direct  from  the  sea,  it  gives 
to  them  an  agreeable  climate.  The  great 
historic  fact  concerning  the  town  is  that  its  * 
inhabitants  were  the  first  in  New  England  to  \ 
rebel  against  the  Puritan  union  of  church 
and  state.  By  refusing  to  pay  taxes  for  the 
support  of  a  ministry  whose  ministrations 
they  would  not  accept,  and  by  obtaining  an 
approval  of  their  action  from  King  George 
the  First,  they  established  the  right  of  every 
New  Englander  to  worship  God  according 
to  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience,  —  a 
right  which  had  previously  existed  in  theory 
only.  The  long  struggle  for  religious  liberty 
which  the  townsmen  of  Dartmouth  carried 
on  against  the  rulers  of  Plymouth  Colony, 
and  afterwards  against  those  of  the  Province 
of  Massachusetts  Bay,  shows  how  thick  New 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        45 

England  had  been  crusted  over  by  a  tyran 
nical  system  of  theology.     But 

"  The  pilgrim  needs  a  pass  no  more 
From  Roman  or  Genevan ; 
Thought-free,  no  ghostly  tollman  keeps 
Henceforth  the  road  to  Heaven." 

The  run  of  the  yacht  is  short  from  Dart 
mouth  to  New  Bedford,  which  is  pleasantly 
situated  on  the  Acushnet  River,  busy  with 
manufacturing  industries,  but  still  retaining 
its  old  flavors  of  the  sea.  The  smell  of 
whale-oil  pervading  the  wharves,  where  casks 
of  it  are  stowed  under  heaps  of  sea-weed  ; 
the  lofts  where  men  are  always  cutting  out 
and  sewing  sails  ;  the  sheds  where  they  are 
building  whale-boats  ;  and  the  old  dismantled 
ships,  whose  exploits  have  been  recorded 
many  times  in  whaling  records,  are  reminis 
cences  of  the  enterprises  which  have  pro 
duced  the  great  wealth  of  this  city.  Whale 
men  say  that  whales  are  now  as  numerous  as 
ever  in  the  ocean,  and  that  the  business  of 
catching  them  is  a  matter  of  luck  ;  that  good 
luck  or  bad  luck  follows  a  ship  for  a  long 
time  ;  and  while  some  ships  are  always  slow 
to  sight  a  whale,  and  rarely  get  a  full  catch, 
others  will  fasten  to  all  the  whales  they  want, 
and  are  always  making  a  good  voyage. 


46         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BA  Y 

On  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river  lies  Fair- 
haven,  where  the  Old  Colony  railroad  begins 
its  circuit  of  the  bay.  During  the  Revolu 
tion  an  important  event  occurred  here,  which 
has  been  nearly  forgotten.  At  that  time  the 
village  attracted  many  strangers,  as  the  port 
was  a  convenient  place  for  fitting  out  priva 
teers  and  for  receiving  their  prizes.  While 
it  was  in  this  flourishing  condition,  four 
thousand  British  troops  were  landed  on 
Clark's  Neck,  September  5,  1778.  They 
marched  up  the  west  side  of  the  river,  across 
the  bridge,  and  down  the  east  side,  burning 
many  buildings  on  their  way,  encamped  on 
Sconticut  Neck  for  a  night,  and  then  re 
turned  to  their  ships.  On  the  next  night  a 
detachment  from  these  troops  was  sent  to 
burn  Fairhaven.  Their  approach  was  dis 
covered  by  Major  Israel  Fearing,  of  Ware- 
ham,  who  was  posted  in  the  village,  with 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  men.  He  placed 
them  in  ambush,  and  allowed  the  enemy  to 
reach  the  shore ;  then  he  opened  a  fire, 
which  was  so  severe  that  they  retreated  im 
mediately  to  the  ships.  His  skill  saved  the 
village  from  destruction. 

Running  out  of  the  Acushnet  River,  the 


THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        47 

yacht  passes  West  Island,  of  eight  hundred 
acres,  whose  Indian  name  was  Markataw.  It 
was  sold  to  white  men  in  the  year  1666,  with 
the  condition  that  if  a  whale  should  be 
stranded  on  the  island  it  is  to  be  divided 
equally  between  the  seller  and  the  buyer. 
Standing  up  the  bay,  the  yacht  now  makes 
Ned's  Point  Light,  at  the  entrance  of  the 
harbor  of  Mattapoiset.  Maddepayset  River, 
as  the  provincial  laws  called  it,  empties  into 
the  harbor;  and  the  name,  in  the  language 
of  the  Indian  King  Philip,  who  sold  the  land 
to  Englishmen  of  Plymouth,  is  said  to  sig 
nify  a  place  of  rest.  It  is  the  place  of  sum 
mer  rest  for  many  urban  families,  whose  red- 
roofed  houses  are  conspicuous  features  in  its 
landscapes.  From  the  town  the  bay  spreads 
away  to  the  eastward  like  an  open  sea,  and 
the  blue  highlands  of  Wood's  Holl  seem  to 
be  lying  on  a  far-distant  horizon.  Hundreds 
of  sea-going  vessels  were  builded  at  Matta 
poiset  in  former  times ;  but  the  ways  from 
which  they  were  slipped  into  the  bay,  amid 
enthusiastic  cheers,  were  taken  down  long 
ago,  and  the  places  where  they  stood  are  now 
covered  by  the  gardens  and  lawns  of  summer 
cottages.  A  little  picture  in  the  village,  as  it 


48          THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

once  was,  may  be  seen  in  this  verse  from  a 
poem  by  Richard  Henry  Stoddard  :  — 

"  Old  homestead,  in  that  gray  old  town  ! 

Thy  vane  is  seaward  blowing  j 
The  slip  of  garden  stretches  down 

To  where  the  tide  is  flowing  ; 
Below  they  lie,  their  sails  all  furled, 
The  ships  that  go  about  the  world." 

Further  up  the  bay  stands  Bird  Island 
Light,  pointing  to  Sippecan  harbor,  which 
reaches  far  into  the  land.  On  its  shore 
lies  the  prospering  village  of  Marion^  which, 
under  the  name  of  Sippecan,  was  settled 
about  the  year  1680,  by  men  from  the  south 
of  England,  who  builded  ships  and  went  to 
sea.  Their  descendants  revealed  their  sea 
heredity  in  a  vote  that  the  village  high  school 
"shall  hail"  as  the  Sippecan  Academy.  No 
doubt  the  principal  teacher  was  then  hailed 
as  captain,  the  classes  were  hailed  as  star- 
bowlines  and  larbowlines,  and  the  boy  pro 
moted  to  the  head  of  a  class  was  ordered  to 
"Lay  out  to  the  weather  earing!"  The 
main  street  of  the  village  would  naturally  end, 
as  it  does  end,  on  a  wharf ;  for  in  early  days 
the  sea  tinged  every  thought  of  the  villagers. 
The  door-steps  of  their  low  dwelling-houses 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        49 

were  adorned  with  sea-shells,  fences  were 
topped  off  by  old  studding-sail  booms,  and  the 
houses  were  builded  near  to  each  other  as  if 
the  families  to  occupy  them  would  have  need 
of  neighborly  company  while  their  men  were 
absent  on  whaling  voyages.  Now  the  sum 
mer  visitor  has  come,  and  the  seaman  has 
gone,  and  the  quaint  old  village  is  in  a  state 
of  transition  to  a  popular  waterside  resort. 
But  some  of  the  natural  charm  of  former 
times  remains.  If  you  look  out  upon  the  bay, 
of  a  clear  morning,  you  will  see  a  panorama 

"  Where  heaven  lends  her  loveliest  scene  ; 

A  softened  air,  a  sky  serene, 
Along  the  shore  where  smiles  the  sea." 

Sailing  out  of  Sippecan  harbor,  we  pass  the 
Great  Hill,  so  called  from  its  great  extent, 
but  celebrated  for  nothing  in  colonial  history 
except  its  warm  pasturages.  It  is  the  most 
prominent  landmark  on  the  western  side  of 
the  bay,  as  Tempest  Knob  is  on  the  eastern 
side.  Between  these  stretch  the  highlands 
of  Agawame  Neck,  in  the  township  of  Ware- 
ham,  on  which  one  may  see  elegant  dwelling- 
houses  of  recent  dates,  and  remains  of  the 
cellars  of  dwellings  that  were  builded  by 
the  Plymouth  yeomen  who  first  occupied 


50         THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

the  land  in  the  year  1682.  Under  the  waters 
in  front  of  the  Neck,  and  in  the  flats  of  its 
Little  Harbor,  lie  immense  beds  of  scallops, 
whose  products  are  abundant  enough  to 
supply  all  the  markets  of  New  England.  On 
the  northern  side  of  the  Great  Hill  the  We- 
weantet  River,  joined  by  the  Sippecan,  comes 
into  the  bay  with  a  broad  sweep.  Above  it 
is  seen  Cromeset  Neck  ;  above  this  the  Woon- 
kinco  and  Agawame  rivers  flow  in  ;  and 
where  their  waters  blend  with  the  tides  of 
the  bay  lie  beds  of  Wareham  oysters,  whose 
flavor  is  praised  wherever  bivalves  are  eaten.. 
As  our  yacht  runs  to  the  eastward,  we  pass 
a  fleet  of  fishing  boats  anchored  on  Dry 
Ledge,  and  can  see  their  occupants  hauling 
in  tautog  and  scup  hand  over  hand.  Then  a 
school  of  bluefish  is  discovered  to  windward. 
Immediately  the  yacht  is  put  about,  and  runs 
to  the  west  with  four  lines  trailing  astern, 
and  bluefish  coming  in  over  the  taffrail  as 
fast  as  they  can  be  taken  care  of.  Now  and 
then  we  lose  one ;  for  while  the  fish  is  leap 
ing  ahead  of  the  long  line,  he  works  the  hook 
out  of  his  mouth  ;  or,  in  the  struggle  against 
us,  the  strain  on  the  line  breaks  his  jaw.  It 
is  a  wild  sport.  The  quick  play  and  haul 


THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARDS  BAY        51 

of  the  lines  as  the  game  is  hooked,  the  calls 
to  "  Haul  him  in  quick  out  of  the  wet !  "  his 
muscular  leaps  for  freedom  as  we  bring  him 
to  deck,  the  rapid  motions  of  the  boat,  the 
flying  spray,  are  a  part  of  the  exciting  plea 
sures  of  bluefishing. 

Now  we  return  to  our  course,  double  Tem 
pest  Knob,  and  sail  northward  through  nar 
row  channels,  passing  wooded  islands  named 
Mashna,  Tobey,  Onset,  and  Wicket,  and  at 
last  we  drop  anchor  in  a  little  pocket  of  deep 
water.  On  the  neighboring  bluffs,  which  are 
covered  with  oak  trees,  stand  the  cottages 
and  temples  of  an  association  of  Spiritualists, 
whose  gala  day  is  Sunday.  Here  I  go  ashore 
and  become  a  part  of  an  audience  in  the 
amphitheatre  listening  to  various  messages 
which  are  announced  as  received  from  a 
world  of  spirits.  A  disconsolate  widower 
hears  his  dead  wife's  spirit  say,  "Don't 
worry  so,  my  dear !  "  A  broken-hearted 
mother  who  has  lost  her  only  boy  receives  a 
written  message  saying,  "  Ma,  I  've  learned  to 
rite  ! "  A  long-haired  man  passes  his  hand 
over  the  head  of  a  girl  and  says,  "  The  angels 
are  hovering  above  you."  But  not  all  who 
are  present  believe  in  these  delusions.  A  man 


52  THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

in  the  audience  with  whom  I  talked  said  to 
me :  "  I  come  here  to  see  folks.  I  give  up 
goin'  to  sea  ten  year  ago  ;  but  down  to  Long 
Plain  where  I  live  there  ain't  much  that 's 
folksy  goin'  on  except  funerals.  Get  tired 
seeing  same  people  and  talkin'  to  'em  along 
side  a  corpse.  Came  here  to  git  posted  about 
what's  going  on.  Go  to  Yarmouth  camp- 
meeting  and  the  Vineyard  and  take  'em  all 
in  ;  but  I  don't  believe  any  on  'em  ! "  He 
was  a  sample  of  many  who  are  drawn  hither 
from  the  countryside  to  see  this  summer 
show. 

"  Head-th-bay,"  as  the  natives  call  it,  is 
thirty  miles  from  the  entrance  at  Gooseberry 
Neck.  The  homesteads  of  Englishmen  who 
settled  here  two  hundred  years  ago  have  be 
come  the  summer  dwelling  places  of  people 
of  leisure  from  distant  cities,  whose  preten 
tious  villas  now  rear  their  heads  where  once 

"  The  wild  fox  dug  his  hole  unseated." 

Here  the  waters,  passing  through  a  narrow 
rift,  widen  out  into  a  quiet  expanse  called 
Buttermilk  Bay,  which  is  encircled  by  wooded 
hills.  Again  there  is  a  narrow  run  of  water, 
by  the  Indians  called  Cohasset,  and  near  by 
is  the  Buzzard's  Bay  station  of  the  Cape  Cod 


THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        53 

railroad,  where  brazen  -  throated  brakemen 
thrust  their  heads  in  at  the  car  doors,  and  in 
drawling  yells  command  the  passengers  to 
"  Change  cars  for  Falmouth,  Wood's  Roll, 
Martha's  Vineyard,  and  Nantucket!" 

The  eastern  shore  of  Buzzard's  Bay  is  a 
part  of  Barnstable  County,  whose  general 
name  is  Cape  Cod.  It  is  probably  the  only 
section  of  the  Atlantic  States  in  which  a 
native  population  remains  unadulterated  by 
foreign  blood.  From  the  bay  shore  to  Race 
Point,  the  northern  tip  of  the  Cape,  and 
to  Monomoy  at  its  southern  extremity,  the 
names  and  descendants  of  English  colonists 
|  of  two  hundred  years  ago  are  still  to  be 
V  found.  The  livelihood  which  its  inhabitants 
have  been  drawing  from  the  sea  has  been 
supplemented  of  late  years  by  the  cultiva 
tion  of  cranberries,  pink  water-lilies,  trout 
streams,  and  summer  boarders.  Year  after 
year  the  boarders  come  with  the  mackerel, 
and  in  numbers  that  tax  the  capacity  of  the 
one  -  track  railway  which  winds  its  dusty 
course  from  Buzzard's  Bay  to  Provincetown  ; 
where  the  inhabitants  do  not  own  a  foot  of 
the  soil,  for  the  whole  township  land  belongs 
to  the  State.  All  the  Cape  horses  and  vehi- 


54         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

cles  stand  in  waiting  for  their  coming,  and 
to  carry  them  off  to  pine  groves  or  sandy 
beaches ;  and  thus  the  summer  boarder  is 
preserving  the  life  of  Cape  Cod. 

As  we  sail  down  this  bay  shore  of  the 
Cape,  we  pass  "  Gray  Gables,"  the  summer 
house  of  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
who  has  publicly  said  that  those  "  who  enjoy 
the  cool  breezes  of  Buzzard's  Bay  are  favored 
above  all  others  by  a  kind  Providence." 
Near  it  Monument  River  flows  into  the  bay. 
The  first  European  who  sailed  up  the  stream 
was  probably  the  Secretary  of  the  New  Am 
sterdam  Colony,  when  he  made  his  famous 
visit  to  Plymouth  in  the  year  1627.  Down 
along  the  shore  is  Monument  Beach,  a  curv 
ing  strand  stretching  back  to  green  knolls  on 
which  stand  clusters  of  summer  cottages  and 
a  large  hotel.  The  hull  of  an  old  sloop  lies 
by  the  water's  edge  ;  and  on  any  summer 
morning,  rows  of  people  in  various  costumes 
are  to  be  seen  seated  on  its  rails,  gazing  idly 
at  the  bathers.  It  may  be  washing-day  on 
shore,  when  from  every  clothes-line  streams 
away,  on  the  southwest  wind,  white  under 
wear  in  quantity  sufficient  to  indicate  that  a 
large  summer  population  is  in  the  neighbor- 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        55 

hood.  Below  is  Pocasset,  whose  old  houses 
once  sheltered  retired  shipmasters,  and  are 
now  the  resorts  of  summer  people.  Then 
we  come  to  Wenaumet,  jutting  into  the  bay, 
supporting  on  its  point  the  Wing's  Neck 
Light ;  then  to  Cataumet  and  its  little  har 
bor,  Chappoquoit  Point  and  its  costly  sum 
mer  villas,  Wild  Harbor,  Racing  Beach,  and 
the  Falmouths,  whose  town  history  began  in 
the  year  1686  ;  then  to  Quamquisset,  its  cot 
tages,  summer  hotel,  and  cove  of  deep  water. 
At  last  we  reach  Wood's  Holl.  This  is  the 
place  of  departure  for  travelers  to  Nantucket, 
where  you  are  offered  a  chance  at  cast-and- 
haul  fishing  in  a  thundering  surf,  with  glori 
ous  views  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  You  are 
also  offered  corals,  and  sea  shells,  and  whales' 
teeth.  One  may  doubt  the  reputed  antiquity 
of  Nantucket  shingles,  tied  with  ribbons  and 
forming  covers  to  series  of  photographs, 
which  are  offered  with  a  certificate  that  they 
are  two  hundred  years  old.  But  you  cannot 
doubt  the  truthfulness  of  the  pretty  sea 
mosses  enclosed  in  scallop  shells,  nor  of  the 
little  blue  forget-me-nots,  nor  the  freshness 
of  the  fish  that  has  been  broiled  for  your 
supper,  nor  the  pureness  of  the  air  that  is 


56         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

fanning  your  cheeks  all  day,  whether  you  are 
ashore  or  afloat. 

Samuel  Sewall,  the  witchcraft  judge,  made 
this  note  of  embarking  here  on  his  way  to 
Martha's  Vineyard,  in  April,  1702  :  "  Call  at 
Mr.  Robinson's,  they  give  us  good  small  Beer. 
Go  to  ye  Ferry-house  ;  his  Boat  is  at  Little 
Wood's  hole  ;  travel  thither,  there  embark 
and  have  a  good  passage  over  in  little  more 
than  an  hour's  time." 

From  time  immemorial  Wood's  Hole  has 
been  the  name  of  the  village  and  its  two 
harbors,  and  of  the  narrow  water-way  which 
separates  the  island  of  Naushon  from  the 
mainland.  There  is  a  record  dated  in  the 
year  1677  of  a  laying  out  of  lands  "at 
Wood's  Hole  ; "  and  also  an  Indian  deed  of 
the  year  1679,  of  "all  that  tract  commonly 
called  Wood's  Hole  Neck."  The  name  is 
therefore  historic.  On  the  shores  of  Buz 
zard's  Bay  a  "  Hole "  apparently  means  a 
pocket  of  water,  a  cove,  a  sea -passage  way 
through  islands,  into  which  vessels  may  run 
for  a  shelter.  For  such  places  it  was  a  com 
mon  name  with  Englishmen  of  the  Plymouth 
Colony.  In  their  records  of  the  year  1651, 
I  find  mention  made  of  the  "waterside  or 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY       57 

Creeke  commonly  called  and  known  by  the 
name  of  Hobs  Hole  ; "  so  named  by  the 
Mayflower  colonists  in  the  year  1623.  In 
the  year  1677  mention  is  made  of  "  Billing- 
tons  holes  neare  unto  or  upon  Jonses  River." 
In  the  same  year  the  colony  gave  to  Jonathan 
Morey  "  three  score  acrees  of  upland  att  the 
salt  water  pond  by  the  way  between  Plymouth 
and  Sandwich."  This  pond  took  the  name 
of  Morey 's  Hole,  and  it  has  been  known  by 
that  name  to  this  day. 

In  the  year  1875,  the  voters  of  the  vil 
lage,  "with  one  exception,"  signed  a  peti 
tion  to  the  Post  Office  Department  of  the 
United  States  to  change  the  name  to  "  Wood's 
Holl."  That  "one  exception"  deserves  a 
monument.  His  act  was  an  intelligent  pro 
test  against  the  manufacture  of  false  history 
on  Buzzard's  Bay.  The  theory  on  which 
the  petition  rested  was  that  Northmen  from 
Scandinavia  *'  passed  along  Cape  Cod  through 
Vineyard  Sound  to  Narragansett  Bay,  where 
it  is  believed  they  settled  ;  "  and  that  the  hills 
around  Wood's  Hole  were  called  "  holls  "  by 
the  Northmen. 

A  great  deal  of  history  has  been  attributed 
to  those  hardy  men,  who  "bravely  fought 


58         THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

like  heroes  bold  and  ruled  the  stormy  sea  ;  " 
but  there  exists  no  indisputable  evidence 
that  they  ever  saw  Buzzard's  Bay.  Some 
writers  say  that  they  ventured  as  far  south 
as  Boston  Harbor ;  and  these  persons  have 
testified  to  that  faith  by  setting  up  a  stone 
tower  on  a  bank  of  Charles  River.  Any 
body  can  set  up  a  tower,  or  a  statue,  or  per 
haps  a  new  post-office  to  commemorate  an 
opinion.  Boston  contains  a  statue  which  rep 
resents  an  opinion  that  Leif  Ericson  and  his 
crew  discovered  the  North  American  conti 
nent  in  the  year  1000  or  thereabouts.  The 
reputation  of  this  Northman  as  the  discov 
erer  of  some  western  world  rests  entirely 
upon  the  stories  of  the  sagas  of  Iceland, 
written  some  three  hundred  years  after  the 
alleged  event.  Nothing  in  literature  is  more 
untrustworthy  than  the  statements  of  these 
flowery  compositions,  in  which,  as  has  been 
said,  "the  story-telling  of  the  fireside  has 
overlaid  the  reports  of  the  explorer."  In 
deed,  many  students  of  history  believe  that 
the  heroes  of  the  sagas  were  fictitious  char 
acters,  as  much  so  as  were  those  who  sailed 
to  Colchis  in  search  of  the  Golden  Fleece, 
as  told  in  old  Greek  poems  ;  and  that  the 


THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY        59 

narratives  of  the  sagas  have  no  more  basis 
on  truth  than  have  the  narratives  of  the 
Iliad.  It  is  possible  that  roving  seamen 
from  Scandinavia,  freebooters  or  fishermen, 
may  have  reached  the  northeastern  shores  of 
America ;  but,  as  Mr.  Bancroft  intimates  in 
his  history,  there  is  not  to  be  found  an  au 
thentic  vestige  of  their  presence  on  any  part 
of  the  continent  now  occupied  by  the  Eng 
lish  race,  notwithstanding  the  Charles  River 
tower,  the  Boston  statue,  and  the  transfor 
mation  of  Wood's  Hole  into  Wood's  Holl. 

There  are  no  bold  voyagers  to  enter  Buz 
zard's  Bay  now,  save  contraband  fishing 
steamers  with  the  police  boat  in  their  wake. 
The  regular  bay  cruisers  are  steamboats  run 
ning  between  New  Bedford,  Martha's  Vine 
yard,  and  Nantucket ;  or  one  loaded  with 
summer  people  bound  to  Onset,  or  to  Gay 
Head ;  then  there  are  to  be  seen  a  few  coal 
and  lumber  laden  sloops  and  schooners,  fish 
ermen,  and  pleasure  boats,  a  steam  yacht 
from  Naushon,  and  the  steamer  carrying 
supplies  to  the  light-houses  in  the  bay.  In 
summer  the  upper  part  of  the  bay  frequently 
presents  a  gay  appearance,  as  the  white  boats 
of  a  yacht  club  sail  their  regattas  from  Sip- 


60         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

pecan  harbor,  or  Onset.  Large  ships  are 
rarely  to  be  seen.  A  great  excitement  was 
once  caused  along  the  upper  shores,  when 
news  was  passed  from  house  to  house : 
"  There  's  a  big  ship  in  the  bay  !  "  Inhabi 
tants  of  the  surrounding  hamlets  gathered 
on  the  beaches,  and  saw  at  anchor  the  ship 
Sunrise,  of  New  York,  asking  for  a  pilot. 
It  was  learned  that  she  had  mistaken  the 
light  on  Cuttyhunk  for  that  on  Gay  Head, 
and  had  entered  Buzzard's  Bay  instead  of 
Vineyard  Sound. 

When  bluefish  "  strike  in,"  there  is  an 
excitement  all  along  shore,  and  all  sorts  of 
craft  strike  out  in  pursuit  of  them.  Many 
men  who  were  born  on  the  bay  shores,  and 
went  away  to  seek  fortune,  are  in  the  habit 
of  returning  annually  to  enjoy  the  summer 
fishing  which  the  bay  affords ;  to  cast  their 
lines  for  scup,  tautog,  bass,  Spanish  mack 
erel,  squeteague,  and  bluefish.  Of  all  these, 
the  bluefish  gives  the  most  sport.  The 
exhilarating  method  of  taking  them  is  by 
trolling  with  a  squid  of  block  tin,  made  in 
the  image  of  a  small  fish,  which  is  rubbed 
bright,  so  that  it  will  glisten  in  the  water, 
and  has  a  tail  affixed  to  it  made  of  eel-skin. 


THE   AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY       61 

Bluefish  are  more  abundant  during  some 
years  than  during  others.  They  dislike  cool 
water  ;  but  whenever  the  temperature  of  the 
sea  ranges  from  sixty  to  seventy-five  degrees, 
the  bay  is  likely  to  be  full  of  them.  Their 
coming  and  going  have  been  mysterious. 
From  the  year  1659  to  the  year  1763,  they 
were  recorded  as  plentiful  about  Nantucket 
and  the  south  shore  of  Barnstable  County 
during  the  summers  ;  but  in  the  year  1764 
they  disappeared  suddenly,  and  it  is  stated 
that  they  were  not  seen  again  in  northern 
waters,  except  in  small  schools,  until  the 
year  1810;  when  and  thereafter  they  re 
turned  in  large  numbers  annually  to  Buz 
zard's  Bay.  There  is  a  tradition  that  dur 
ing  their  absence  their  return  was  annually 
expected  and  watched  for  all  along  the 
shore.  At  last  a  large  school  came  into 
the  bay  on  a  Sunday  morning  in  June,  and 
the  lads  who  discovered  them  hurried  to  the 
meeting-house  to  proclaim  the  glad  tidings. 
The  doors  were  wide  open,  the  preacher 
was  expounding,  when  a  shrill  cry  rang  in  : 
"  Bluefish  in  the  bay  !  "  In  a  twinkling  the 
meeting-house  was  emptied,  and  every  boat 
belonging  to  the  village  was  soon  spreading 


62         THE  AMBIT  OF  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

its  sails  for  the  open  water.  This  action 
was  not  without  precedent.  I  have  read  in 
the  annals  of  Truro,  on  Cape  Cod,  that  in 
February,  1755,  the  people  were  assembled 
in  their  meeting-house  for  the  ordination  of 
the  town's  minister;  when,  on  account  of 
certain  news  received  at  the  door,  it  was 
"  Voted  that  as  many  of  the  inhabitants  are 
called  away  from  the  meeting  by  news  of  a 
whale  in  the  bay,  this  meeting  be  adjourned." 
They  wanted  a  whale  before  they  wanted  a 
preacher.  There  are  many  people  who  have 
the  same  want  now. 


LIFE   ON   MATINICUS   ROCK 


LIFE  ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 


MATINICUS  ROCK  stands  in  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  thirty  miles  south  of  the  entrance  to 
the  Penobscot  River.  Three  families  are  liv 
ing  on  it  to  take  care  of  the  sea  lights ;  their 
only  companions  are  innumerable  seabirds 

"  Wheeling  round  it  with  the  din 
Of  wings,  and  winds,  and  solitary  cries." 

The  summit  of  the  rock  is  about  fifty  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  ocean,  and  its  irregular 
surface  of  thirty-five  or  forty  acres  resembles 
a  heap  of  'boulders.  Captain  John  Smith,  in 
his  quaint  "  Description  of  New  England," 
recited  the  islands  and  rocks  which  he  dis 
covered  off  the  coast  of  Maine,  and  called 
this  the  "  Rock  of  Mattanack  much  furder  in 
the  sea."  If  you  want  to  visit  it,  the  light 
house  inspector  at  Portland  may  offer  to  you 
the  voyage  of  a  hundred  miles  in  a  steamer 
that  carries  supplies  to  the  rock ;  or  you 


66  LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 

may  take  passage  at  Rockland  in  a  fishing 
schooner  bound  south.  After  a  run  of  twen 
ty-five  miles,  the  schooner  will  heave  to  off 
the  rock  and  the  skipper  will  row  you  to  it 
in  a  dory.  This  will  be  steered  to  timber 
ways  which  slope  down  into  the  sea  in  a 
little  cove  ;  when  the  dory  is  carried  in  on 
top  of  a  swell,  it  will  be  hooked  to  a  tackle 
and  drawn  up  the  sloping  ways  by  a  windlass 
manned  by  the  light-keepers.  That  is  the 
usual  method  of  landing  upon  Matinicus, 
and  it  can  be  successful  only  when  the  sea 
is  smooth.  In  summer  and  in  winter  there 
are  days  when  the  landing  can  be  made ; 
and  in  both  seasons  there  are  weeks  when 
Atlantic  winds  are  howling  across  the  rock, 
and  a  tempestuous  sea  forbids  any  approach 
to  it. 

The  first  things  that  attract  attention  on 
landing  are  the  two  stone  towers  supporting 
the  lights,  ninety-five  feet  above  the  sea  level, 
which  may  be  seen  from  a  ship's  deck  fifteen 
miles  away.  Between  the  towers  is  a  row  of 
low  dwelling-houses  occupied  by  the  light- 
keepers'  families.  Near  by  are  a  house  for 
storing  oil,  and  a  brick  cistern  for  holding 
rain-water.  At  one  side  is  a  scaffolding  from 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


LIFE   ON  M ATI  NIC  US  ROCK  67 

which  hangs  a  heavy  bell,  and  on  the  other 
side  stands  a  brick  building  containing  ma 
chinery  for  operating  steam  whistles  ;  all  else 
is  the  ragged,  fissured  rock  against  which  the 
ocean  is  always  striking,  and  in  its  mildest 
moods  is  asserting  itself  so  loudly  that  you 
can  hardly  hear  human  speech. 

The  rock  is  in  the  gateway  of  an  ocean 
thoroughfare  which  in  pleasant  weather  is 
traversed  by  all  kinds  of  sea-going  craft ; 
there  are  steamers  passing  to  and  fro  be 
tween  Boston  and  ports  in  Maine  and  New 
Brunswick,  ice  and  lumber  loaded  schooners 
bound  out  of  the  Penobscot  River,  smacks 
following  schools  of  mackerel,  or  bound  to 
distant  fishing  banks,  yachts  racing  out  of 
Marblehead,  large  ships  fresh  from  the  build 
ing  yards  at  Bath,  and  occasionally  a  British 
steamer  from  England  steering  for  Portland 
Harbor. 

Far  different  is  the  scene  when  a  fog  cov 
ers  the  ocean  and  a  drizzling  east  wind  is 
blowing.  Then  the  steam  whistle  on  the 
rock  shrieks  its  alarms  at  intervals  of  twenty- 
five  seconds  as  long  as  the  fog  lasts ;  or,  if 
the  whistle  is  disabled,  a  great  bell  on  the 
rock  strikes  a  continuous  warning,  so  that 


68  LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 

if  any  ships  are  near  they  may  know  the 
bearings  of  Matinicus.  The  cries  of  the 
ocean  and  of  the  wind  and  of  the  bell  or  the 
whistle,  when  combined  in  one  confusion, 
are  probably  tormenting  to  the  ears  of  those 
living  on  the  rock  as  anything  that  can  be 
imagined  to  exist  in  the  infernal  regions. 
"  It  seems  hard,"  said  a  light-keeper  during 
the  prevalence  of  a  fog,  "  that  the  whistle 
must  go  on  without  stop  when  one  of  us  lies 
sick  abed,  or  a  child  is  near  dying  and  jumps 
at  every  blast  of  it." 

Here  one  may  see  the  ocean  in  its  wildest 
moods.  The  light-keeper  said  to  me :  "  I 
have  seen  the  sea  running  so  high  against 
the  rock  that  the  spray  flew  completely  over 
the  domes  of  the  lighthouses."  More  than 
once  has  the  rock  been  swept  across  its 
length  and  breadth  by  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
On  a  January  morning  the  ocean  rose  before 
a  terrific  gale.  The  light-keeper  had  gone 
to  land  the  day  before,  leaving  the  care  of 
the  lights  to  his  eldest  daughter.  The  living 
things  on  the  rock,  besides  the  family,  were 
their  hens.  As  the  gale  increased,  the  girl 
saw  that  unless  the  flock  was  brought  in  it 
would  be  lost  in  the  sea.  Seizing  a  basket 


LIFE   ON  M ATI  NIC  US  ROCK  69 

she  ran  out  on  the  rock,  after  the  rollers 
had  passed  and  the  sea  had  fallen  off  a  little, 
and  rescued  from  the  coop  all  but  one.  It 
was  the  work  of  a  minute,  and  she  was  then 
back  with  the  door  fastened ;  but  at  that  in 
stant  her  little  sister,  standing  at  a  window, 
exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  look  !  the  worst  wave  is 
coming  !  "  That  wave  destroyed  one  of  the 
dwelling-houses  and  overwhelmed  the  rock. 

One  day  Captain  Burgess,  the  light-keeper, 
left  the  rock  to  obtain  provisions,  as  the 
weather  had  for  a  long  time  been  so  stormy 
that  no  communication  from  the  shore  had 
reached  him.  A  storm  delayed  his  return, 
and  famine  began  to  threaten  the  people  left 
on  the  rock.  To  obtain  help,  his  son  started 
away  in  a  skiff  which  was  rigged  with  a  sail. 
He  was  soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  trough  of 
the  sea,  then  he  was  seen  on  the  top  of  the 
waves  a  short  distance  off,  and  that  was  the 
last  the  family  saw  of  him  for  twenty-one 
days.  In  the  mean  time  the  mother  and  her 
daughters  put  themselves  on  a  daily  allow 
ance  of  one  cup  of  corn  meal  and  one  egg, 
while  the  eldest  daughter  Abby  tended  the 
lights  until  relief  came  from  land. 

Of  a  light-keeper's  children,  two  were  born 


70  LIFE  ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 

and  one  died  on  Matinicus ;  where  there  is 
no  "  God's  acre  "  to  receive  the  dead.  The 
child's  coffin  was  laid  on  a  level  spot  of  the 
rock,  a  cairn  of  bricks  was  built  over  it,  the 
bricks  were  covered  with  earth,  the  earth 
was  sown  with  flower  seeds  ;  and  that  was 
the  child's  grave.  When  Abby's  mother  died 
on  the  rock,  the  ocean  was  so  rough  that  no 
boat  could  make  a  landing  until  the  next  day. 
In  speaking  of  this  event  she  said  :  "  I  pre 
pared  the  body  for  its  last  resting-place,  and 
the  keeper  made  the  coffin.  We  hoisted  a 
signal  of  distress,  which  was  seen  at  Matini 
cus  Island,  five  miles  to  the  northward,  and 
two  fishermen  rowed  over.  They  had  to 
wait  until  three  waves  had  run  in  and  run 
out ;  then  there  was  a  smooth  spell,  and  they 
backed  their  boat  in  and  jumped  on  to  the 
rock,  and  stayed  with  us  that  night.  The 
next  day  the  sea  was  smooth  enough  for 
friends  to  come  in  a  schooner.  They  took 
the  dead  body  away,  and  buried  it  in  the 
graveyard  at  Rockland.  My  husband  and  I 
did  not  go  to  the  grave,  because  we  had  to 
stay  on  the  rock  to  tend  the  lights.  There 
were  two  other  deaths  since  I  have  lived  on 
the  rock  ;  a  young  man  was  drowned  in  try- 


LIFE   ON  MA  TINICUS  ROCK  7 1 

ing  to  land ;  another  was  drowned  after  he 
had  left  the  rock,  the  undertow  capsizing  his 
boat.  It  is  just  as  dangerous  at  Mount  De 
sert  Rock,  which  is  thirty-three  miles  to  the 
eastward  of  Matinicus.  That  rock  is  low  and 
flat,  but  outlying  ledges  break  the  force  of 
the  sea.  A  little  boy  was  chasing  the  waves 
there ;  he  ran  after  them  as  they  receded, 
and  when  they  came  in  he  ran  back.  His 
mother  was  standing  in  the  lighthouse  door 
calling  him,  when  a  big  wave  rolled  up  and 
carried  him  away  from  her  sight  forever." 

The  Lighthouse  Board  at  Washington  does 
much  to  make  light  -  keepers  comfortable 
in  the  discharge  of  their  duties,  while  at  the 
same  time  it  maintains  a  rigid  discipline  over 
them.  An  inspector,  who  is  an  officer  of 
the  navy,  visits  each  station  in  his  district  at 
regular  times,  and  sees  that  all  needed  com 
forts  and  supplies  are  provided,  and  that  the 
rules  of  the  service  are  observed.  The  dis 
cipline  is  of  necessity  almost  merciless.  In 
the  year  1801,  Thomas  Jefferson  wrote  :  "I 
think  the  keepers  of  the  lighthouses  should 
be  dismissed  for  small  degrees  of  remissness, 
because  of  the  calamities  which  even  these 
produce."  This  opinion  animates  the  execu- 


72  LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 

tive  acts  of  the  board.  A  keeper  found  in 
toxicated  is  instantly  ejected  from  his  station 
and  from  the  lighthouse  service,  and  one  who 
allows  his  lamps  to  go  out  before  sunrise  is 
dismissed  without  regard  to  his  previous  good 
conduct.  To  take  faithful  care  of  his  light 
and  of  the  property  belonging  to  it  is  the 
keeper's  paramount  duty.  He  is  expected  to 
stand  by  his  light  as  long  as  his  lighthouse 
stands,  even  if  the  winter  gale  is  as  power 
ful  as  that  in  which  the  Minot's  Ledge  Light 
and  its  keepers  perished. 

Light-keepers  are  compelled  to  wear  a  uni 
form  dress  ;  they  are  furnished  with  a  good 
dwelling-house,  and  when  stationed  far  dis 
tant  from  a  market,  as  on  Matinicus  Rock, 
they  are  provided  with  rations.  Their  pay 
ranges  up  to  one  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
according  to  the  perils  of  their  location ;  and 
they  are  sure  of  receiving  it  so  long  as  they 
are  faithful  to  their  duties.  Their  houses 
contain  a  library  in  a  portable  case,  hold 
ing  about  fifty  volumes  on  various  subjects. 
Every  three  months  the  library  is  exchanged 
by  the  inspector  for  another.  One  may  sup 
pose  that  people  living  on  such  isolated  sta 
tions  as  Matinicus,  or  Mount  Desert  Rock, 


LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK  73 

which  is  twenty  -  two  miles  from  land,  or 
Nantucket  South  Shoal  lightship,  which  is 
twenty-three  miles  from  land,  would  become 
crazed  by  the  solitude  of  their  lives  were  it 
not  for  these  libraries.  But  the  truth  is  that 
men  whose  lives  are  spent  on  the  ocean  are 
not  readers  of  literature.  In  the  lighthouse 
service  they  stand  watch  and  watch,  as  crews 
do  at  sea ;  and  the  thoughts  and  habits 
of  many  of  the  light-keepers,  all  of  whom 
have  been  seamen,  are  so  closely  allied  to 
their  occupations  that  narratives  of  wrecks 
and  disasters  to  ships,  by  which  they  can 
compare  their  own  experience  with  that  of 
others,  are  more  interesting  to  them  than 
history,  or  biography,  or  fiction.  The  only 
book  in  the  Nantucket  South  Shoal  light 
ship  which  is  well  thumbed  and  frequently 
referred  to  is  said  to  be  one  containing  a 
record  of  vessels  that  have  met  with  disaster 
on  the  Nantucket  coast.  Each  vessel  is  a 
personality  to  the  lightship  men. 

Captain  Grant  went  with  his  family  to  live 
on  Matinicus  Rock,  as  light-keeper,  in  the 
year  1861.  The  previous  keeper  left  with 
the  new-comers  his  daughter,  Abby  Burgess, 
whom  I  have  mentioned,  to  teach  them  how 


74  LIFE   ON  M ATI  NIC  US  ROCK 

to  manage  the  lights.  She  had  been  on  the 
rock  since  the  year  1853.  The  captain's 
son,  Isaac,  was  an  interested  pupil,  and  in 
the  course  of  time  he  married  the  young 
teacher,  who  soon  after  received  an  appoint 
ment  as  an  assistant  keeper  of  the  lights. 
The  rock  was  her  home,  and  there  her  chil 
dren  were  reared.  But  she  had  a  longing 
desire  for  a  home  on  an  inland  farm,  and  she 
waited  the  time  when  for  her  "there  shall 
be  no  more  sea." 

That  time  began  to  come  in  the  year  1875, 
when  she  and  her  husband  were  transferred 
to  White-Head  Light,  while  the  captain,  her 
husband's  father,  remained  in  charge  of  Ma- 
tinicus.  White-Head  is  an  island  near  the 
western  entrance  to  Penobscot  Bay,  and  is 
so  near  the  mainland  that  the  light-keeper 
can  row  across  the  channel  to  Spruce-Head 
for  a  daily  mail,  if  he  chooses  to  do  so.  Near 
the  lighthouse  were  small  patches  of  land 
and  a  garden.  Not  far  away  were  the  ever 
green  woods,  and  browsing  cattle,  and  fields 
of  grass.  There  was  a  piano  in  her  new 
home  ;  but  in  front  of  it  was  the  wearisome 
sea,  upon  which  she  must  look  every  day,  for 
which  she  must  light  the  lamps  every  night ; 


LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK  75 

and  by  her  door  stood  the  dreadful  steam 
whistle,  screeching  its  dismal  blasts  when 
fogs  covered  the  coast.  Here  they  lived  fif 
teen  years,  keeping  in  charge  the  White- 
Head  Light.  But  all  the  time  some  hopes 
of  another  home  remote  from  the  ocean  were 
kept  alive  in  her  heart.  One  day  she  wrote 
a  letter  to  a  friend  living  near  the  Green 
Mountains  of  Vermont,  in  which  she  re 
viewed  her  work  of  keeping  ocean  lights 
burning,  to  which  thirty-seven  years  of  her 
life  had  been  devoted,  and  said  :  — 

"  Sometimes  I  think  the  time  is  not  far 
distant  when  I  shall  climb  these  lighthouse 
stairs  no  more ;  then  there  will  be  another 
watcher  who  will  take  my  place  ;  but  there 
never  will  be  anybody  who  can  take  a  greater 
interest  in  the  light  than  I  have  taken.  It 
has  almost  seemed  to  me  that  the  light  was 
a  part  of  myself. 

"When  we  had  care  of  the  old  lard-oil 
lamps  on  Matinicus  Rock,  they  were  more 
difficult  to  tend  than  these  lamps  are,  and 
sometimes  they  would  not  burn  so  well  when 
first  lighted,  especially  in  cold  weather,  when 
the  oil  got  cool.  Then  some  nights  I  could 
not  sleep  a  wink  all  night,  though  I  knew 


76  LIFE  ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 

the  keeper  himself  was  watching.  And 
many  times  I  have  watched  the  lights  my 
part  of  the  night,  and  then  could  not  sleep 
the  rest  of  the  night,  thinking,  nervously, 
what  might  happen  should  the  light  fail.  I 
felt  just  the  same  interest  in  it  before  I  re 
ceived  any  pay.  I  lived  on  the  rock  nearly 
seventeen  years  before  I  was  appointed  an 
assistant,  or  had  any  pay  for  my  work. 

"  In  all  these  years  I  always  put  the  lamps 
in  order  in  the  morning,  and  I  lit  them  at 
sunset.  Those  old  lamps,  as  they  were  when 
my  father  lived  on  Matinicus  Rock,  are  so 
thoroughly  impressed  on  my  memory,  that 
even  now  I  often  dream  of  them.  There 
were  fourteen  lamps  and  fourteen  reflectors. 
When  I  dream  of  them,  it  always  seems  as 
though  I  had  been  away  a  long  while,  and  I 
am  trying  to  get  back  in  time  to  light  the 
lamps.  Then  I  am  halfway  between  Matini 
cus  and  White-Head,  and  am  hurrying  to 
ward  the  rock  to  light  the  lamps  there  in 
time  to  be  at  White-Head  to  light  the  lamps 
there  before  sunset.  Sometimes  I  walk  on 
the  water  ;  sometimes  I  am  in  a  boat ;  and 
sometimes  I  seem  going  in  the  air.  I  must 
always  see  the  lights  burning  in  both  places 


LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK  77 

before  I  wake.  I  always  go  through  the 
same  scenes  in  cleaning  the  lamps  and  light 
ing  them,  and  I  feel  a  great  deal  more  wor 
ried  in  my  dreams  than  I  do  when  I  am 
awake.  I  wonder  if  the  care  of  the  light 
house  will  follow  my  soul  after  it  has  left 
this  wornout  body.  If  I  ever  have  a  grave 
stone,  I  would  like  it  to  be  in  the  form  of  a 
lighthouse." 

At  last  this  noble  woman  secured  an  in 
land  home,  to  which  she  and  her  husband 
retired  in  the  month  when  the  apple-trees  of 
New  England  are  in  blossom.  Six  months 
later  Captain  Grant,  who  had  kept  the  lights 
on  Matinicus  Rock  burning  for  twenty-nine 
years,  resigned  his  charge,  and  retired  to  the 
home  of  his  son  on  land,  leaving  another  son 
to  succeed  him  as  captain  of  the  rock.  He 
was  then  eighty-five  years  old.  "  I  expect," 
wrote  one  of  his  sons  to  me  at  the  time  of 
the  retirement,  "  he  will  feel  the  change 
severely,  for  at  the  age  of  eighty-five  years 
one  must  suffer  from  such  a  radical  change 
in  their  surroundings,  from  the  wild,  stormy 
coast  of  the  Atlantic  to  the  peaceful  quiet  of 
an  inland  village." 

The  three  light-keepers  of  Matinicus  went 


78 


LIFE   ON  MATINICUS  ROCK 


to  spend  their  remaining  days  in  a  quiet  vil 
lage  of  Plymouth  County,  Massachusetts, 
where  there  is  no  sea  nor  any  lighthouse 
lamp.  But  there  they  missed  their  old  fel 
lowship  with  the  ocean.  The  expectation 
which  the  son  had  expressed  to  me  concern 
ing  his  father  became  prophetic  of  the  whole 
family  ;  and  before  twelve  months  had  passed, 
they  removed  to  a  town  which  looks  upon 
"the  unplumbed,  salt,  estranging  sea." 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY. 


THESE  roads  have  a  history.  Long  before 
Englishmen  had  arrived  at  Plymouth,  they 
were  the  foot  trails  of  Indians  traversing  the 
great  forest  which  stretched  from  the  ocean 
to  the  site  of  the  Providence  Plantations  ; 
the  colonists  used  them  as  cattle-paths,  by 
which  their  herds  were  driven  to  winter 
grazing  in  the  meadows  bordering  Buzzard's 
Bay  ;  then  they  were  bridle-paths,  for  the 
usual  mode  of  traveling  was  on  horseback ; 
then  they  became  cart-roads, 

"  winding,  as  old  roads  will, 
Here  to  a  ferry,  and  there  to  a  mill." 

At  last  they  were  adopted  as  the  highways 
of  a  town. 

The  vines  and  flowers  hedging  these  roads 
have  probably  been  reproducing  themselves 
in  the  same  places  from  time  immemorial. 


82       OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

Mats  of  wild  cranberries  have  always  covered 
the  banks  near  the  ruts,  and  little  blossoms 
of  various  colors  have  always  lifted  their 
heads  in  the  dusty  wayside  grass.  Every 
summer  I  have  seen  those  thickets  of  wild 
syringas  in  flower;  those  elderberries  have 
hung  their  purple  clusters  for  the  wine- 
makers  annually,  and  the  tall  witheberry 
bushes  have  not  failed  to  turn  their  fruits 
from  green  to  red,  and  from  red  to  blue, 
whether  the  traveler  has  admired  them  or 
not. 

Some  of  these  old  roads  wander  through 
long  reaches  of  pine  woods,  where  jungles  of 
ferns  are  growing,  and  deep  layers  of  brown 
needles  are  spread,  and  heaps  of  lops  and 
tops  are  lying  as  they  were  left  by  wood 
cutters.  The  stillness  of  these  woods  makes 
you  pause ;  the  song  of  a  bird  is  seldom 
heard  in  them  ;  and  the  only  sound  that  you 
catch  is  a  soft,  incessant  murmur  of  the  top 
most  branches,  which  you  may  fancy  to  be 
the  hushing  whisper  of  Silence.  The  roads 
pass  clumps  of  white  birches  leaning  over 
old  stone  walls,  and  curiously  over-run  with 
grape-vines.  They  pass  old  guide-posts 
which  have  stood  up  and  contradicted  each 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BA  Y    83 

other  about  the  distances  to  Plymouth  and 
Sandwich  and  Mattapoiset,  until  they  have 
become  gray.  They  pass  ancient  milestones, 
partly  concealed  in  the  bushes,  on  one  of 
which  are  carved  the  symbols  "4  M."  But 
no  one  knows  to  what  haven  it  would  now 
direct  the  traveler.  They  pass  along  the 
edges  of  ponds  into  which  alewives  come 
from  the  sea  every  spring,  to  cast  their 
spawn.  They  pass  low  farm-houses  which 
face  to  the  south,  no  matter  which  way  the 
road  runs. 

Some  of  these  houses  are  very  ancient  ;  a 
large  square  chimney  rises  from  each,  and 
the  chimney  is  the  centre  of  the  family 
life.  One  of  the  housekeepers  told  me  that 
she  had  put  seventeen  pies  to  bake  of  a 
morning  in  the  great  chimney  oven.  On 
summer  days  house  doors,  barn  doors,  and 
wood-shed  doors  are  wide  open  ;  there  are 
herds  of  handsome  cows  in  clover  fields 
near  by,  and  broods  of  hens  are  dusting 
themselves  in  the  road ;  no  other  life  is  to 
be  seen.  The  silence  and  sunshine  of  sum 
mer  cover  houses  and  fields.  How  delight 
ful  this  silence  is  !  As  I  drive  along,  it  is 
broken  by  the  tones  of  an  organ  in  a  farm- 


84     0-LD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

house,  and    I    hear  two  voices   singing   the 
world-traveled  ballad  of  Annie  Rooney  :  — 

"  She  's  my  sweetheart,  I  'm  her  beau, 
She  's  my  Annie,  I  'm  her  Joe  !  " 

An  old  road  leads  me  to  diked  meadows 
by  the  bay,  where  salt  hay  is  now  harvested 
by  farmers  whose  ancestors  were  cutting  the 
meadows  when  George  the  Second  was  king. 
Another  passes  Hamlen's  Corners,  where,  in 
the  year  1739,  lived  the  deacon  whom  the 
Wareham  Church  called  up  to  inquire  "  how 
he  had  disposed  of  ye  contributions."  There 
is  a  piece  of  an  old  road  called  Briggs  Lane, 
and  there  stand  the  old  houses  once  occupied 
by  the  family  which,  in  olden  times,  gave 
to  the  thoroughfare  its  name ;  but  Betsey 
Briggs,  the  last  of  her  line,  was  dust  long 
ago.  There  is  another  piece  of  an  old  road 
which  is  known  as  Happy  Alley,  so  called,  I 
may  suppose,  because  it  is  skirted  on  each 
side  by  ancient  graveyards,  where  briars  and 
blackberry  vines  grow  easily.  On  another 
road  I  catch,  through  the  trees,  the  glimmer 
of  a  large  pond,  on  which  one  may  troll  for 
black  bass.  Except  the  road  which  passes 
through  the  woods  near  it,  and  the  tracks  by 
which  horses  have  been  turned  down  to  the 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY    85 

water,  there  is  no  indication  that  man  has 
ever  been  on  its  shore.  A  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  there  were  tilled  fields  where  the 
forest  stands,  and  the  windows  of  the  farm 
house  looked  upon  the  water.  Now  there  is 
no  vestige  of  house  or  family  ;  but  the  pond 
perpetuates  the  farmer's  name. 

Some  of  the  old  houses  on  these  roads 
look  like  real  homes ;  the  long,  low  roof 
spreads  out  to  a  broad  base,  as  does  an  old 
motherly  hen  spread  herself  to  cover  her 
brood  with  her  wings.  Bare-footed  and  bare 
headed  children,  dressed  in  red  frocks  or 
blue  trousers,  who,  with  a  finger  in  the 
mouth,  look  shyly  at  me  as  I  come  near,  and 
run  in  through  the  open  door  as  if  to  seek  a 
place  of  safety,  are  the  broods  that  find 
homes  under  these  peaceful  roofs.  Some 
times  the  windows  of  these  old  houses  give 
a  quaint  impression  to  me  as  I  pass  them. 
Their  small  panes,  like  little  eyes  in  the  sun 
light,  seem  to  wink  at  me  ;  the  irregular 
lines  of  their  sills,  curving  down  to  the  cor 
ners  like  a  lower  lip,  seem  to  pout  at  me ;  a 
low  dormer,  half  way  down  the  slope  of  the 
roof,  seems  to  lift  its  sleepy  lid  to  see  who  I 
am  ;  and  through  a  little  square  hole  under 


86      OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARDS  BAY 

the  peak  of  the  gable,  which  is  covered  by 
one  small  pane  of  glass,  an  eye  seems  to  be 
watching  me  until  I  am  out  of  sight. 

Occasionally  on  my  rides  I  meet  a  doctor 
rushing  along  in  a  sulky,  his  box  of  drugs 
at  his  feet ;  then  I  meet  a  poor  farmer  who 
is  eking  out  his  income  by  peddling  dried 
herrings  ;  then  I  encounter  families  from  old 
homesteads  going  soberly  to  a  clambake  on 
the  bay  shore,  in  springless  wagons  floored 
with  straw.  One  day  I  met  on  the  road  a 
man  from  Boston  peddling  parlor  organs  ;  he 
had  two  in  his  wagon,  and  he  stopped  me 
and  asked  if  I  wanted  "to  buy  an  organ." 
Often  have  I  pulled  off  into  a  thicket  at  the 
roadside  to  let  pass  a  large  wagon  crowded 
with  women  and  children  who  were  going  to 
the  cranberry  bogs,  where  they  will  crawl  on 
hands  and  knees  to  reap  the  fruit,  and  will 
receive  ten  cents  for  each  six-quart  measure 
of  it  turned  over  to  the  owner.  Everybody 
in  this  region  who  owns  anything  appears  to 
own  a  cranberry  bog ;  the  store-keeper  owns 
one ;  the  blacksmith  owns  one  ;  the  oyster- 
man  owns  one  ;  even  the  peddler  owns  one. 

Many  of  these  old  roads  are  bounded  by 
rude  stone  walls,  which  were  piled  up  more 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY    87 

than  two  centuries  ago,  when  the  settlers 
made  their  fields  by  cutting  down  forests  and 
digging  out  boulders  with  which  they  con 
structed  these  boundaries.  Although  the 
forest  has  overrun  the  fields,  these  walls  re 
main, 

"  Pathetic  monuments  of  vanished  men." 

I  drove  across  the  Woonkinco  River,  and 
ascending  a  hill  I  came  to  a  fork  near  which 
stood  a  house  in  a  field  of  dwarf  oaks.  The 
front  door  was  open.  Pulling  up  my  horse, 
I  hailed  :  — 

"  Does  this  road  lead  to  Plymouth  ?  " 

A  stout  woman  came  to  the  door,  and 
looked  at  me.  She  wore  a  green  calico  gown, 
and  a  broad-brim  straw  hat  such  as  men 
wear  in  hay-fields. 

"  Yes  !      Both   on  'em,"  she   said  ;    "  but 
Cap'en   Savery,  he  goes  Agawame  way,  - 
right  ahead  !  " 

I  know  Captain  Savery.  He  commands  a 
lobster  cart.  Every  Tuesday,  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  he  has  been  driving  it  to  Ware- 
ham  with  a  load  of  boiled  lobsters  from  Sol 
Valler's  at  Ship  Pond.  That  is  a  little  fish 
ing  hamlet  on  the  seacoast  of  Plymouth, 
where  a  narrow  strip  of  beach  separates  the 


88      OLD   ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

sea  from  a  small  pond,  in  which  were  found 
the  remains  of  a  ship  driven  by  a  storm  at 
some  unknown  time  across  the  beach.  The 
woman  cautioned  me  that  I  was  sure  to  go 
astray  unless  I  followed  the  course  which 
the  veteran  lobster-man  is  accustomed  to 
steer  through  the  Plymouth  woods. 

It  was  a  sunny  day  in  August.  There  had 
been  no  rain  for  nearly  a  month.  Between 
the  tracks  of  the  road  clumps  of  purple 
wood-asters  were  struggling  for  life,  and  as 
my  horse  shambled  along,  a  continuous  cloud 
of  dust  arose  behind  the  wheels,  and  was 
scattered  over  ferns  and  huckleberry  bushes 
by  the  wayside.  A  green  marsh  in  the  cen 
tre  of  an  old  field,  and  a  small  pond  covered 
with  lily  pads  were  pleasing  contrasts  to 
the  brown  and  weedy  grasses  surrounding 
them. 

I  came  to  a  long  row  of  small,  uninhabited 
houses.  Fifty  years  ago  they  were  bright 
red  houses  filled  by  industrious  families,  who 
had  their  church  and  their  school  near  by. 
Time  has  sagged  the  doors,  toppled  the  chim 
neys,  and  made  gray  and  shabby  these  rem 
nants  of  homes.  Passing  these  I  turned  into 
the  street  of  Agawame  village.  The  river 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY     89 

runs  furiously  through  the  broken  gates  of  a 
dam,  on  its  course  to  Buzzard's  Bay,  and 
near  it  are  spread  the  ruins  of  a  large  iron 
mill,  which  in  its  day  gave  prosperity  to  the 
village  and  a  living  to  the  people  who  inhab 
ited  those  little  red  houses.  Now  the  neigh 
borhood  is  silent.  Its  homesteads  have  been 
abandoned  ;  the  blacksmith's  shop,  the  mill's 
store,  the  boarding-house,  the  tavern,  once  a 
part  of  the  general  activity,  are  fast  falling 
into  decay.  So,  too,  is  the  old-fashioned 
manor-house,  which  is  separated  from  the 
road  by  a  little  park  of  elm-trees,  surrounded 
by  a  broken-down  picket  fence.  I  turned 
up  to  it  to  look  at  the  portrait  of  a  large 
black  bass  which  the  iron-master  took  from 
a  pond  in  Plymouth  woods  thirty  years  ago, 
and  sketched  on  the  wall  of  its  portico. 

Half  way  on  the  road  from  the  head  of 
Buzzard's  Bay  to  Plymouth,  in  a  wooded 
vale,  lies  a  beautiful  lake  called  Half-way 
Pond.  A  guide-post  stands  on  a  corner  of 
the  village  street,  and,  pointing  into  the 
woods,  says  :  "  Half-way  Pond  8  miles."  I 
followed  its  guidance,  and  drove  away  into 
the  woods.  The  road  was  heavy  with  sand, 
and  hedged  by  thick  bushes.  Soon  I  noticed 


90     OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

that  the  sand  had  disappeared  and  pine 
needles  covered  the  way.  In  a  short  time 
the  pine  needles  were  passed,  and  the  road 
became  merely  two  wheel-tracks  with  young 
pines  and  oaks  standing  between  them.  As 
I  advanced,  these  became  larger,  bending 
stiffly  as  the  wagon's  body  swept  over  them. 
Suddenly  I  came  upon  a  boy  with  a  fish- 
pole  and  a  string  of  speckled  trout.  I  asked 
him :  — 

"Where  does  this  road  go  ?  " 

He  guessed  "  it  don't  go  nowhere,"  with 
an  air  of  scorn  at  my  question. 

A  little  beyond  this  encounter,  I  came 
upon  a  man  surveying  to  lay  out  a  cranberry 
bog.  I  said  to  him  :  "  I  Ve  lost  the  road." 

"  I  guess  you  have,"  he  replied  ;  "but  you 
can  follow  round  and  get  into  it  after  a 
while." 

There  was  now  no  sign  of  travel  except  a 
foot-path  through  the  bushes.  At  a  knoll 
the  path  was  divided.  I  turned  my  horse  to 
the  right,  because  I  saw  an  open  space  in 
that  direction  and  the  glimmer  of  a  line  of 
sand,  which  I  concluded  to  be  the  road. 
The  path  led  me  down  to  the  broad  sand- 
covered  dyke  of  a  cranberry  farm.  It  was 


OLD  ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARDS  BAY    91 

impossible  to  go  further.  I  dismounted,  and 
lifted  the  wagon  around ;  then,  carefully  re 
tracing  the  way  I  had  come,  I  reached  at 
last  the  guide-post  at  the  corner  of  the  vil 
lage  street.  Then  I  drove  to  "  the  store  "  to 
inquire  about  the  road  to  Half-way  Pond. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  about  it  ? "  I  asked  of  a 
cheerful,  broad-bosomed  woman  who  stood 
behind  the  counter. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  she  answered  in  a  distressed 
tone,  "  it 's  dreadful  crooked.  Just  as  soon 
tell  ye  as  not,  but  don't  believe  I  can." 

"  I  can,"  said  a  small  boy  who  was  listen 
ing,  "  if  you  '11  give  me  a  pencil." 

He  took  up  a  box  cover,  and  drew  a  line 
up  and  down  it,  then  a  line  parallel,  then  a 
line  crossing  both,  then  lines  curving  away 
from  all  the  lines. 

"  That 's  the  way  the  road  goes,"  said  he, 
following  one  of  the  lines  with  the  pencil. 
"  When  you  git  here,  that  fork  '11  lead  you 
to  Federal  Furnace.  Keep  on  by  this  cor 
ner,  and  look  out  there  for  a  cedar  swamp. 
Here  you  '11  see  some  cranberry  bogs  ;  and 
when  you  git  here,  don't  turn  into  that  road, 
'cause  it  goes  to  Zekel's  Pond.  You  '11  see  a 
white  rag  tied  to  a  pine-tree.  You  go  by  it, 


92        OLD   ROADS  NEAR  BUZZARD'S  BAY 

and  you  '11  come  to  an  oak  with  a  shingle 
nailed  on  it ;  then  keep  straight  ahead,  mis 
ter,  all  the  time,  and  I  guess  you  '11  git 
there." 

"  I  guess  I  '11  give  it  up,"  said  I.     "  I  '11 
drive  in  some  other  direction." 


A  DAY   ON  THE   SHORE 


A  DAY   ON   THE   SHORE 


IT  was  the  Fourth  of  July  ;  there  were  no 
great  guns  nor  brazen  bells  to  usher  in  the 
day,  but  only  the  songs  of  birds  in  the  elms 
and  apple-trees,  and  the  lusty  shouts  of  a 
fancy  rooster  that  lords  it  over  our  barnyard 
domain.  Now  and  then  a  rustic  near  Country 
Bridge  fired  off  a  musket.  In  the  soft  morn 
ing  air  its  sound  resembled  the  explosion  of 
a  paper  bag.  The  farm  was  silent  and  de 
serted,  although  ripe  grass  stood  waiting  for 
the  scythe,  and  yesterday's  hay  was  still  out 
spread.  You  could  not  have  hired  a  laborer 
to  rake  it  up  at  ten  dollars  a  day,  for  all  the 
men  had  gone  down  the  bay  to  celebrate  the 
Fourth. 

As  our  farm-house  was  filled  with  guests 
from  the  city  we  decided  to  celebrate  the 
day  by  a  clambake  on  the  shore.  So,  on 
the  evening  before,  I  drove  over  to  a  little 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


g6  A   DAY  ON  THE  SHORE 

hamlet  of  old  houses  lying  on  the  road  to  the 
beach,  to  hire  a  clam-digger.  The  houses 
are  occupied  by  unambitious  people  who  fish 
or  farm  as  the  fancy  takes  them,  and  do  not 
trouble  themselves  with  thoughts  about  the 
morrow.  All  kinds  of  labor  "  kind  o'  goes 
agin  "  their  convictions.  The  houses  stand 
on  the  edge  of  an  oak  thicket  where  roads 
from  the  back  country  meet  and  fork  away 
toward  the  bay,  and  at  the  fork  stands  a  small 
dilapidated  house  having  one  story  and  one 
door.  On  its  gable  end,  facing  you  as  you 
approach,  is  always  sitting  a  large  crow ; 
like  Foe's  raven,  which  was  forever  sitting 
"  on  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  "  just  above  his 
chamber  door.  Children  long  ago  named 
this  house  the  Crow  Hotel,  and  in  younger 
days  they  felt  a  dread  of  it  as  they  rode  past 
on  their  way  to  the  beach  ;  for  through  its 
always  open  door  could  be  seen  signs  of  that 
wretchedness  which  is  likely  to  make  mischief 
in  a  neighborhood.  Strung  along  the  road 
just  beyond  are  other  houses  of  the  settle 
ment.  No  fences  separate  them  from  the 
land  which  they  occupy  ;  as  it  was  easier  for 
the  families  to  gather  their  firewood  from  the 
fences,  while  these  lasted,  than  to  go  a  few 
steps  farther  into  the  forest  to  get  it. 


A   DAY  ON  THE  SHORE  97 

I  pulled  up  my  horse  in  front  of  a  house 
before  which  several  barefooted  boys  were 
grouped,  each  one  trying  in  turn  to  jump 
farthest  from  a  standpoint  into  the  road; 
marking  the  spot  where  the  jump  lands  him 
with  a  scratch  made  by  his  big  toe  in  the 
sand.  They  stopped  their  sport  and  stared 
at  me  when  I  told  them  that  I  wanted  to 
hire  a  man  to  dig  clams. 

"Dun  know  where  you'll  git  him,"  was 
their  opinion. 

But  I  succeeded  in  finding  one  ;  and  it  was 
interesting  to  discover  that  his  name  and 
pedigree  came  from  a  passenger  in  the  May 
flower.  He  agreed  to  dig  three  bushels  of 
clams  at  low  tide  in  the  morning,  to  make 
the  bake,  and  be  at  our  service  for  the  day  ; 
the  entire  consideration  being  three  dollars. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  Fourth,  preparations  for  the 
picnic  are  begun.  Baskets  are  filled  with 
desirable  things  from  the  pantry  and  oven, 
demijohns  are  filled  with  fresh  water,  bathing- 
suits  and  towels  are  sorted  and  made  into 
packages.  These  things  are  stowed  away  in 
two  large  wagons,  to  each  of  which  a  span  of 
horses  is  harnessed. 


98  A   DAY  ON  THE  SHORE 

At  noon  we  lock  the  house,  crowd  into  the 
wagons,  and  drive  away.  We  ride  through 
the  woods  and  snuff  the  fragrant  odors  which 
a  warm  sun  is  distilling  from  pine  trees. 
Along  the  roadsides  sweetbriar  roses  are 
blooming.  Children  are  allowed  to  jump  out 
of  the  wagons  to  break  off  clusters  of  ripen 
ing  blueberries,  and  to  pick  wild  cranberry 
blossoms  or  laurel  flowers  with  which  to 
adorn  their  straw  hats,  Now  the  root  of  a 
big  tree  bulging  in  the  road  gives  us  a  heavy 
jounce  as  the  wheels  pass  over  it ;  then  a 
deep  rut  catches  the  wheels  and  we  are  all 
thrown  against  each  other.  These  things 
are  made  sport  of  as  we  drive  on  and  find 
them  repeated.  After  a  half  hour's  journey 
we  pass  the  house  on  whose  gable  the  crow 
is  perched  ;  then  we  pass  mounds  covered 
with  moss,  through  which  peep  out  bleached 
clam-shells,  which  are  supposed  to  be  rem 
nants  of  clambakes  enjoyed  by  Indians  cen 
turies  ago ;  then  a  short  drive  brings  us  to 
the  bay  shore,  where  we  find  our  Mayflower 
man  awaiting  us  under  the  pine  trees,  having 
all  the  materials  at  hand  for  the  bake. 

The  horses  are  now  unharnessed  and  tied 
to  trees,  the  wagons  are  rolled  into  shady 


A   DAY  ON   THE  SHORE  99 

places  and  unloaded,  the  guests  lounge  along 
the  beach  to  some  cool  retreat  where  they 
may  read  a  novel  or  quietly  watch  the  yachts 
and  fishing-boats  that  are  going  up  and  down 
the  bay.  The  children  take  off  shoes  and 
stockings  and  are  soon  paddling  on  the  edge 
of  the  water ;  or  digging  little  canals  and 
cisterns  into  which  the  tide  creeps  ;  or  pick 
ing  up  snails,  tiny  crabs,  and  scallop  shells ; 
or  building  sand  castles,  to  be  washed  away 
by  the  ripples  which  the  south  wind  sends 
to  shore. 

In  the  mean  time  our  man  is  making  the 
bake.  A  large,  pan-shaped  hole  has  been 
scooped  out  and  carefully  lined  with  stones. 
On  these  he  builds  a  fire,  heaps  it  high  with 
dry  wood,  keeping  it  in  full  glow  until  the 
stones  have  become  red  hot.  Then  he  clears 
away  the  fire,  removes  the  embers,  sweeps 
off  the  ashes,  and  upon  the  clean,  hot  stones 
he  spreads  a  cover  of  mossy  rockweeds,  just 
gathered  from  the  bay.  Over  this  he  spreads 
the  three  bushels  of  clams  ;  these  he  covers 
with  long  sea-grass,  sloped  up  in  a  heap 
which  confines  all  the  heat  and  steam  arising 
from  the  stones.  The  clams  are  cooked  in 
twenty  minutes  ;  the  oven  is  opened  on  the 


100  A   DAY  ON  THE  SHORE 

leeward  side,  and  all  hands  are  summoned  to 
help  themselves.  We  burn  our  fingers  with 
the  hot  shells,  as  each  layer  of  clams  is  un 
covered,  and  we  are  careful  not  to  spill  the 
hot  juice  as  we  press  the  shells  open  and  with 
our  fingers  take  out  the  delicious  morsels. 

From  a  tent  where  bathing-suits  have  been 
put  on,  there  is  now  a  run  to  the  water ;  and 
while  some  jump  in,  others  recline  on  the 
beach  to  watch  the  bathers ;  children  are 
wetting  their  ankles  with  a  scream  ;  girls  are 
splashing  in  the  shallows  and  incessantly 
shrieking  ;  bolder  boys  are  diving  off  into  the 
depths  ;  and  the  city  belles  !  .  .  . 

The  sight  of  belles  in  bathing-dresses  easily 
destroys  one's  respect  for  the  maxim  that 
beauty  unadorned  is  adorned  the  most.  But 
she  who  now  sits  on  the  sand  and  laughs  at 
the  uncomely  appearance  of  her  comrades 
in  the  bath,  may  be  seen,  some  other  day, 
emerging  from  it  as  they  are  now  :  — 

"  Her  hair  drooped  round  her  pallid  cheeks, 
Like  seaweed  round  a  clam." 


OLD   COLONY  WITCH    STORIES 


OLD   COLONY   WITCH    STORIES 


MANY  a  New  England  village  has  had  its 
witch,  its  haunted  house,  its  graveyard  ghost, 
and  its  goblin  stories.  Its  children  have 
been  afraid  to  go  to  bed  in  the  dark,  and  are 
afraid  now,  lest  "the  Boogars"  catch  them. 
These  mysterious  creatures  are  supposed  to 
haunt  the  darkness  of  bed-chambers  and  to 
live  by  day  in  some  obscure  cubby-hole  in 
the  garret.  The  moral  lessons  for  which 
their  pretended  existence  is  used  are  thus 
expressed  by  the  Hoosier  poet :  — 

"  You  better  mind  yer  parents,  and  yer  teachers  fond  and 

dear, 
An'  churish  them  'at  loves  you,  an'  dry  the  orphant's 

tear, 

An*  he'p  the  pore  an'  needy  ones  'at  clusters  all  about, 
Er  the  gobble-uns  '11  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out ! " 


104         OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES 

There  are  two  women,  descended  from  one 
of  the  English  settlers  of  the  Plymouth 
colony,  who  tell  witch  stories  and  believe 
in  the  existence  of  witches,  or  of  old  women 
who  can  exercise  a  supernatural  power  over 
others.  Their  mother  and  grandmother,  for 
they  are  sisters,  held  to  the  same  supersti 
tion.  In  their  day  a  belief  in  the  working  of 
evil  influences  was  almost  universal  with  the 
lower  classes  of  people  in  the  county,  and 
witchwood  was  gathered  under  peculiar  cir 
cumstances  to  be  kept  as  a  shield  against 
the  witcheries  of  mumbling  and  wrinkled 
hags.  Farmers  were  then  particular  to  cut 
their  cordwood  "on  the  decrease  of  the 
moon  ;  "  a  death  in  the  family  was  told  to  the 
bees,  and  sometimes  the  hives  were  trimmed 
with  crape,  as  if  it  were  possible  for  the 
wandering  spirit  of  the  dead  to  come  back  to 
the  homestead  to  get  a  supply  of  honey,  if 
stinted  of  it  in  the  last  resting-place.  Akin 
to  this  superstition  was  a  custom  prevalent 
in  some  English  colonies  of  burying  a  suicide 
in  the  cross-roads  and  driving  a  stake  through 
the  body,  to  prevent  the  spirit  from  coming 
back  to  vex  the  community. 

"  After  you  pass  Carver  Green  on  the  old 


OLD  COLONY  WITCH  STORIES         105 

road  from  the  bay  to  Plymouth,"  said  one  of 
these  women,  "you  will  see  a  green  hollow 
in  a  field.  It  is  Witches'  Hollow,  and  is 
green  in  winter  and  summer,  and  on  moonlit 
nights  witches  have  been  seen  dancing  in  it 
to  the  music  of  a  fiddle  played  by  an  old 
black  man.  I  never  saw  them,  but  I  know 
people  who  saw  witches  dancing  there.  In 
a  small  house  near  the  hollow,  a  little  old 
woman  lived  who  was  a  witch  ;  she  went  by 
the  name  of  Old  Betty,  and  she  danced  on 
the  green  with  the  devil  as  a  partner.  There 
was  an  old  man  who  lived  in  that  neighbor 
hood  by  himself ;  he  was  kind  to  Betty,  giv 
ing  her  food  and  firewood.  After  a  while  he 
got  tired  of  her  and  told  her  she  must  keep 
away.  One  day  he  caught  her  there  and  put 
her  in  a  bag,  and  locked  the  bag  in  a  closet, 
and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  went  away 
to  his  work.  While  he  was  gone,  she  got  out 
of  the  bag  and  unlocked  the  door.  Then 
she  got  his  pig,  dog,  cat,  and  rooster,  put 
them  into  the  bag,  put  the  bag  in  the  closet 
and  hid  herself.  When  the  man  came  home 
the  animals  in  the  bag  were  making  a  dread 
ful  noise.  *  Ah,  ha!  Old  Betty,  there  you 
are ! '  said  the  man.  He  took  the  bag  and 


io6          OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES 

dashed  it  on  his  doorstone,  and  the  old  wo 
man  laughed  and  cried  out,  '  You  hain't  killed 
Old  Betty  yet ! '  " 

Another  story  told  by  the  old  women  was 
of  two  witches  who  lived  in  Plymouth  woods, 
near  the  head  of  Buzzard's  Bay,  who  never 
went  out  in  the  daytime ;  but  in  the  evening 
twilight  they  walked  out  "casting  spells." 
They  cast  a  spell  on  a  boy,  compelling  him 
to  follow  them  home.  Putting  him  to  bed  in 
a  lower  room,  they  went  up  a  ladder  into  the 
loft.  At  midnight  the  boy  saw  them  come 
down  the  ladder,  go  to  the  oven,  and  take  out 
a  quahog  shell.  Each  witch  rubbed  it  be 
hind  her  ears  and  said  "  Whisk  !  "  when  each 
flew  up  the  chimney.  The  boy  got  up  and 
rubbed  the  shell  behind  his  ears ;  immedi 
ately  he  went  up  the  chimney  and  found  him 
self  standing  outdoors  beside  the  witches, 
who  were  sitting  astride  black  horses  in  the 
yard.  On  seeing  the  boy  one  of  them  dis 
mounted,  went  into  the  house  and  returned 
with  a  "  witch  bridle  "  and  a  bundle  of  straw. 
She  flung  the  bridle  over  the  straw,  and  out 
of  it  came  a  pony.  The  boy  was  put  on  the 
pony's  back,  and  away  the  three  cantered 
across  a  large  meadow,  until  they  came  to  a 


OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES         107 

brook.  The  witches  cleared  the  brook  at  a 
leap  ;  but  the  boy,  when  he  cleared  it,  said 
to  his  pony,  "  A  pretty  good  jump  for  a  lousy 
calf  !  "  Those  words  broke  the  spell ;  the 
pony  vanished,  the  boy  stood  alone  with  the 
bridle  and  the  straw.  He  now  ran  after  the 
witches,  and  soon  he  came  to  an  old  deserted 
house  in  which  he  heard  the  sound  of  fiddles. 
He  peeped  in  a  window  and  saw  a  black  man 
fiddling,  and  the  two  witches  and  other  old 
women  dancing  around  him.  Frightened,  he 
ran  down  the  road  until  he  came  to  a  farm 
house.  He  knocked  on  the  door,  was  ad 
mitted,  and  the  next  day  the  farmer  carried 
him  to  his  parents. 

The  old  women  who  told  the  witch  stories 
said  that  their  grandmother  had  been  person 
ally  acquainted  with  two  witches,  in  the  last 
century.  One  of  these  was  named  Deb 
orah  Borden,  called  at  that  day  "Deb  Bur 
den,"  who  was  supposed  to  have  caused  a 
great  deal  of  mischief  in  Wareham,  Roches 
ter,  and  Middleboro.  It  was  thought  to  be 
necessary  for  farmers  to  keep  in  her  good 
graces  lest  she  should  cause  a  murrain  to 
come  upon  cattle,  lest  the  rye  refuse  to  head, 
and  the  corn  to  ear.  She  was  a  weaver  of 


io8          OLD    COLONY  WITCH  STORIES 

cloth  and  rag  carpets.  Woe  to  the  unlucky 
housewife  who  worried  Deb  or  hurried  her 
at  her  looms !  I  will  let  one  of  the  sisters 
relate  her  story  of  this  sorceress.  It  is  not 
probable  that  the  relator  had  ever  heard  of 
Robert  Burns'  story  of  Tarn  O'Shanter  and 
his  gray  mare  Meg  ;  but  a  running  brook 
filled  the  same  place  in  that  story  and  in 
this  :  - 

"  Once  my  grandmother  had  a  web  of 
cloth  in  Deb's  looms,  so  she  sent  my  mother 
and  a  girl  named  Phebe  after  it.  The  two 
girls  were  just  as  intimate  as  finger  and 
thumb.  They  went  to  Deb's  house  and  told 
her  what  my  grandmother  said,  and  it  made 
her  mad,  'cause  she  did  n't  like  to  be  hurried. 
Near  her  back  door  was  a  tree  full  of  red 
apples,  and  Phebe  said,  '  Won't  you  please 
give  me  an  apple  ? '  and  Deb  said,  '  Drat 
you  !  No,  I  won't ! '  My  mother  was  n't 
afraid,  so  she  took  an  apple  for  Phebe  and 
one  for  herself,  and  she  said  to  Deb  :  — 

"  '  I  ain't  afraid  of  ye,  ye  old  witch  ! ' 

"'Ye  ain't?'  Deb  screamed;  'then  I'll 
make  ye  afraid  afore  ye  git  home  ! ' 

"  They  had  a  piece  of  woods  to  go  through  ; 
in  the  middle  of  it  there  was  a  pair  of  bars, 


OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES         109 

and  on  the  other  side  of  the  bars  there  was 
a  brook.  Suddenly  they  heard  a  roaring  and 
they  saw  a  black  bull  coming.  '  Oh  ! '  said 
Phebe,  *  Captain  Besse's  bull  has  got  out  and 
he  will  get  us  ; '  so  they  ran  for  the  bars. 
They  got  through  them  and  across  the  brook, 
when  the  bull  leaped  the  bars  and  stopped  on 
the  edge  of  the  brook  and  roared ;  then  my 
mother  knew  it  was  old  Deb  Burden  who  was 
in  the  bull  to  frighten  the  girls,  because  the 
brook  stopped  the  critter.  Witches  can't 
cross  running  water,  you  know. 

"  The  girls  reached  home  dreadfully  fright 
ened,  and  told  what  had  happened.  '  Never 
mind,'  said  my  grandfather ;  '  I  '11  fix  Debbie  ! ' 
When  she  brought  home  the  cloth,  he  came 
into  the  house  and  slipped  behind  her  as  she 
sat  by  the  fire,  and  put  a  darning-needle 
through  her  dress  and  fastened  her  to  the 
chair.  Well,  she  sot ;  and  every  once  in  a 
while  she  said, '  I  must  go  ; '  but  she  could  n't 
stir  ;  she  would  be  still  for  a  while  and  then 
say, '  Why,  I  must  go  and  tend  my  fire  ; '  but 
she  could  n't  stir  no  more  'n  a  milestone ; 
and  he  kept  her  in  the  chair  all  day,  and  then 
he  pulled  out  the  needle  and  let  her  go. 
'  Scare  my  gal  agin,  ye  old  witch  ! '  he  said. 


no         OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES 

You  know  witches  can't  do  anything  when 
steel  is  nigh,  and  that  was  the  reason  the 
darning-needle  held  her. 

"  Once  Deb  came  to  Thankful  Haskell's 
in  Rochester,  and  sot  by  the  fire,  and  her 
daughter,  fourteen  year  old,  was  sweeping 
the  room,  and  she  put  the  broom  under  Deb's 
chair.  You  can't  insult  a  witch  more  than 
that,  'cause  a  broomstick  is  what  they  ride 
on  when  they  go  off  on  mischief.  Deb  was 
mad  as  a  March  hare,  and  she  cussed  the 
child.  Next  day  the  child  was  taken  sick, 
and  all  the  doctors  gin  her  up,  and  they  sent 
for  old  Dr.  Bemis  of  Middleboro ;  he  put  on 
his  spectacles  and  looked  at  her,  and  said  he, 
*  This  child  is  bewitched  ;  go,  somebody,  and 
see  what  Deb  is  up  to.'  Mr.  Haskell  got  on 
his  horse  and  rode  to  Deb's  house  ;  there 
was  nobody  in  but  a  big  black  cat ;  this  was 
the  devil,  and  witches  always  leave  him  to 
take  care  of  the  house  when  they  go  out.  Mr. 
Haskell  looked  around  for  Deb,  and  he  saw 
her  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  garden  by 
a  pool  of  water,  and  she  was  making  images 
out  of  clay  and  sticking  in  pins.  As  quick  as 
he  saw  her  he  knew  what  ailed  the  child  ;  so 
he  laid  his  whip  around  her  shoulders  good, 


OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES         1 1 1 

and  said,  (  Stop  that,  Deb,  or  you  shall  be 
burnt  alive ! '  She  whimpered,  and  the 
black  cat  came  out  and  growled  and  spread 
his  tail,  but  Mr.  Haskell  laid  on  the  whip, 
and  at  last  she  screamed,  '  Your  young  one 
shall  git  well ! '  and  that  child  began  to 
mend  right  off.  The  black  cat  disappeared 
all  of  a  suddint  and  Mr.  Haskell  thought  the 
earth  opened  and  took  him  in." 

"  Moll  Ellis  was  called  the  witch  of  Plym 
outh,"  said  the  other  sister,  taking  up  the 
story-telling.  "She  got  a  grudge  agin  Mr. 
Stevens,  a  man  my  grandfather  worked  for, 
and  three  years  runnin'  she  cast  a  spell  on 
the  cattle  and  horses,  and  upsot  his  hay  in  a 
brook.  My  grandfather  drove  and  Stevens 
was  on  the  load,  and  when  they  came  to  the 
brook  the  oxen  snorted,  and  the  horses  reared 
and  sweat,  and  they  all  backed  and  the  hay 
was  upsot  into  the  brook.  One  day  Stevens 
said,  '  I  '11  not  stand  this  ;  I  '11  go  and  see 
what  Moll  Ellis  is  about.'  So  he  went  up  to 
her  house,  and  there  she  lay  on  her  back 
a-chewin'  and  a-mutterin'  dretful  spell  words, 
and  as  quick  as  Stevens  saw  her  he  knew 
what  ailed  his  cattle  ;  and  he  walked  right 
up  to  the  bed,  and  he  told  Moll,  '  If  you  ever 


112         OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES 

upset  another  load  of  hay  I  '11  have  you  hung 
for  a  witch.'  She  was  dretful  scart,  and 
promised  she  never  would  harm  him  again. 
When  she  was  talking,  a  little  black  devil, 
that  looked  just  like  a  bumblebee,  flew  into 
the  window  and  popped  down  her  throat ; 
't  was  the  one  she  had  sent  out  to  scare  the 
cattle  and  horses.  When  Moll  died,  they 
could  n't  get  the  coffin  out  the  door  because 
it  had  a  steel  latch ;  they  had  to  put  it  out 
the  window." 

Whether  Moll  was  in  the  habit  of  using 
the  window  to  pass  in  and  out  of  her  dwell 
ing-house  in  her  lifetime,  these  women  could 
not  tell ;  but  they  firmly  believed  in  Moll, 
and  in  witches,  devils,  and  familiar  spirits. 
That  belief,  under  various  names,  still  flour 
ishes  with  certain  classes  of  people  in  eastern 
Massachusetts.  At  Onset  I  have  heard  them 
speak  of  "  manifestations  "  received  from  the 
spirits  of  the  first  settlers  on  the  shores  of 
Buzzard's  Bay,  and  I  have  read  in  a  Bristol 
County  newspaper  that  a  mysterious  hearse 
had  been  seen  driven  by  a  headless  man 
along  a  road  in  the  woods. 

In  regard  to  such  stories  I  must  say,  as 
Mr.  Addison  said  after  relating  the  story  of 


OLD   COLONY  WITCH  STORIES         113 

Glaphyra  :  "  If  any  man  thinks  these  facts 
incredible,  let  him  enjoy  his  opinion  to  him 
self  ;  but  let  him  not  endeavor  to  disturb 
the  belief  of  others  who  by  instances  of  this 
nature  are  excited  to  the  study  of  virtue." 


A  THANKSGIVING 


A  THANKSGIVING 


IN  December,  1621,  Edward  Winslow,  of 
the  Mayflower  company,  wrote  a  letter  from 
Plymouth  to  a  "  louing  and  old  friend "  in 
London,  saying :  — 

"  We  set  the  last  Spring  some  twentie  Acres 
of  Indian  Corne,  and  sowed  some  six  acres  of 
Barley  &  Pease  and  according  to  the  manner 
of  the  Indians,  we  manured  our  ground  with 
Herrings  or  rather  Shadds,  which  we  have  in 
great  abundance  and  take  with  great  ease  at  our 
doores.  Our  Corne  did  proue  well  &  God  be 
praysed,  and  our  Early  indifferent  good,  but  our 
Pease  not  worth  the  gathering,  they  came  up 
very  well,  and  blossomed,  but  the  Sunne  parched 
them  in  the  blossome ;  our  harvest  being  gotten 
in,  our  Governour  sent  foure  men  on  fowling,  so 
that  we  might  after  a  more  speciall  manner  re- 
ioyce  together  after  we  gathered  the  fruit  of  our 
labours;  they  foure  in  one  day  killed  as  many 


Il8  A    THANKSGIVING 

fowle  as  with  a  little  helpe  beside  served  the 
Company  almost  a  weeke." 

This  rejoicing  together  "after  a  more  spe- 
ciall  manner "  was  the  first  Thanksgiving 
Day  in  New  England.  But  in  1621  it  was 
not  called  by  the  name  it  now  bears,  nor  did 
its  circumstances  resemble  those  which  now 
surround  it.  Then,  frightful  mysteries  were 
lurking  on  the  wooded  horizon  of  the  camp 
at  Plymouth.  Now,  there  looms  upon  the 
horizon  of  our  Thanksgiving  Day  nothing 
more  frightful  than  an  enormous  turkey. 
There  were  no  cheerful  firesides  nor  jovial 
guests  in  the  Plymouth  huts ;  and  although 
the  exiles  ate  the  partridges  and  wild  turkeys 
which  the  "  foure  men  on  fowling  "  had  shot 
in  the  Plymouth  woods  for  their  Thanksgiv 
ing  dinners,  the  eaters  were  not  free  from 
anxiety  and  discomfort ;  and  imagination 
may  picture  the  dyspepsias  which  haunted 
them  after  that  " almost  a  weeke"  of  feast 
ing. 

It  is  something  to  rejoice  over  that  no 
matter  who  is  the  President,  nor  what  politi 
cal  party  holds  the  key  to  the  treasury,  nor 
what  taxes  oppress  the  people,  the  whirligig 
of  time  is  sure  to  bring  in  a  Thanksgiving 


A    THANKSGIVING  119 

for  everybody,  on  the  last  Thursday  in  No 
vember.  Men  may  say  that  they  are  too 
busy,  and  women  may  say  that  they  have 
nothing  to  wear  ;  circumstances  may  change 
and  friends  may  change  with  them  ;  but 
here  comes  this  most  hospitable  day  of  the 
year,  unchanged  in  its  spirit  by  any  changes 
of  time.  Shops  are  shut,  factories  are  silent, 
the  iron  door  of  discounts  and  deposits  is 
closed,  the  Ship  of  State  is  hove  to  and  all 
hands  are  piped  to  dinner.  Only  the  ball 
clubs,  with  their  devotees,  are  left  out  of 
doors  on  Thanksgiving  Day. 

To  see  a  picture  of  the  genuine  Thanks 
giving  Day,  you  may  send  your  memory 
back  to  the  old  homestead  from  which,  per 
haps,  you  wandered  long  ago  ;  or  you  may 
go  with  me  in  imagination  to  a  New  England 
village. 

A  long  sermon  has  been  preached  in  the 
village  meeting-house,  in  which  the  preacher 
has  exhorted  the  people  to  render  thanks  to 
the  Supreme  Ruler,  the  giver  of  every  good 
and  perfect  gift  ;  to  love  the  country  and  its 
institutions  ;  to  respect  all  those  who  are  set 
in  lawful  authority  over  them  ;  and,  finally, 
to  prepare  for  that  eternal  kingdom  which 


120  A    THANKSGIVING 

is  to  come.  The  sermon  is  ended ;  the 
meeting-house  is  closed,  and  the  village  street 
is  soon  deserted. 

On  these  stone-walled  farms  fragrant  barns 
are  preserving  the  wealth  of  a  harvest  closely 
gathered.  In  her  ample  stall  stands  the  old 
gray  mare,  whinnying  for  an  extra  quart  of 
corn,  and  whisking  her  tail  in  thanksgiving 
that  fly-time  is  ended.  The  brindled  cows 
poke  their  mild  faces  over  the  barnyard  gates, 
chewing  unconsciously  the  cud  of  thanksgiv 
ing.  Chanticleer,  thankful  for  this  extra- 
meal-giving  day,  and  regardless  of  the  fate  of 
his  progeny  who  are  smoking  in  the  chicken 
pie,  mounts  the  highest  peak  of  the  wood 
pile,  and  with  lusty  crow  announces  himself 
the  undaunted  cock  of  all  creation. 

From  those  great,  square,  brick  chimneys 
curls  up  peacefully  the  smoke  of  thanksgiv 
ing  kitchens.  All  out-door  work  has  been 
laid  aside,  and  the  juvenile  Yankee  nation 
has  gathered  indoors,  where  it  is  kicking  up 
its  heels  like  a  young  colt,  shouting,  "  Be 
gone,  dull  care  !  "  and  bidding  grandmother 
"  Hurry  up  those  pumpkin  pies  !  " 

The  restless  Jonathan  is  at  home  to-day ; 
he  dismisses  his  dignity  with  a  yawn  of  relief 


A    THANKSGIVING  121 

as  he  finds  himself  free  from  his  stocks  in 
New  York,  his  grain  in  Chicago,  and  his 
plantations  in  Louisiana.  He  romps  with 
the  children  to-day  in  the  hay-loft,  and  builds 
blocks  of  houses  for  them  on  the  sitting- 
room  floor.  The  London  clock  in  its  tall 
mahogany  case,  standing  in  a  corner  as  it 
stood  in  the  old  colonial  times,  whirrs  off  the 
noisy  hours ;  and  grandfather  sits  at  the 
fireside,  tapping  his  snuff-box,  and  waving 
gleefully  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief. 
He  enters  into  all  the  frolics  of  the  grand 
children,  and  his  feelings  say  :  - 

"  Play  on,  play  on ;  I  am  with  you  there, 

In  the  midst  of  your  merry  ring ; 
I  can  feel  the  thrill  of  the  daring  jump, 

And  the  rush  of  the  breathless  swing. 
I  hide  with  you  in  the  fragrant  hay, 

And  I  whoop  the  smothered  call, 
And  my  feet  slip  up  on  the  seedy  floor, 

And  I  care  not  for  the  fall." 

That  parchment  framed  upon  the  wall  of  the 
sitting-room  is  a  commission  from  "  George 
the  Second,  by  the  Grace  of  God,  of  Great 
Britain,  France,  and  Ireland,  King,"  appoint 
ing  this  grandfather's  grandfather  "  to  be 
one  of  Our  Justice  to  keep  Our  Peace  in 
the  County  of  Plymouth  within  Our  Province 


122  A    THANKSGIVING 

of  Massachusetts  Bay,  in  New  England." 
It  is  dated  "this  26th  day  of  June,  1755." 
From  that  day  to  this  the  odor  of  Thanks 
giving  Day  has  annually  filled  the  old  house 
from  cellar  to  garret,  as  it  is  filled  now. 
There  is  a  savory  sense  of  turkeys  browning 
on  the  spits  of  tin  ovens  ;  of  chickens  crusted 
with  hot  pastry  ;  of  beans  baking  in  dark 
pots  of  earthen ;  of  mince  pies  steaming 
with  spices  and  cider ;  the  very  atmosphere 
smacks  of  the  goodness  of  Thanksgiving 
Day. 

After  we  have  given  thanks  for  all  the 
mercies  and  blessings  which  the  day  has 
unfolded  to  our  memories,  we  should  not  for 
get  to  give  thanks  for  the  day  itself,  —  the 
most  delightful  episode  in  the  circle  of  the 
seasons. 

Blow  the  wind  from  what  quarter  it  will, 
this  is  the  day  of  all  the  year  when  we  should 
heave  the  deep-sea  lead  of  memory  into  the 
past,  take  new  bearings  and  departures,  and 
begin  the  reckonings  of  a  new  voyage.  It  is 
the  day  when  we  should  be  on  good  terms 
with  all  flesh,  especially  with  ourselves  — 
and  the  cook.  It  is  the  day  when  we  should 
scare  up  all  the  celestial  turkeys  roosting  in 


A    THANKSGIVING  123 

our  hearts,  and  send  one  to  everybody  in  the 
neighborhood  who  is  poorer  than  we  are. 
To-day  we  should  grate  off  the  rinds  of  our 
selfish  dispositions ;  we  should  baste  our 
worldly  wisdom  with  large  spoonfuls  of  the 
drippings  of  humility  ;  we  should  lard  the 
tenderloin  of  our  affections  with  the  fat  of 
benevolence ;  we  should  stuff  the  breast  of 
our  vanities  with  a  dressing  of  knowledge 
seasoned  with  godliness ;  we  should  rejoice 
that,  although  we  have  been  broiled  on  the 
gridiron  of  adversity  ninety  and  nine  times, 
we  are  spared  to  see  Thanksgiving  Day  with 
a  clear  conscience,  a  thankful  heart,  and  a 
rousing  appetite.  And  we  are  determined 
that  nothing  shall  vex  the  tranquillity  of  our 
Thanksgiving  but  an  endless  grace  or  an 
invincible  "  drumstick." 

All  hail  to  Thanksgiving  Day,  which  has 
been  an  annual  visitor  at  our  firesides  for 
many  generations  !  I  say,  as  Patrick  Henry 
said  of  the  Revolution,  "  Let  it  come !  I  re 
peat  it,  sir,  Let  it  come  !  Although  every 
gale  that  sweeps  from  the  North  may  bring 
to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding"  — 
knives  and  forks,  let  it  come  for  its  associa 
tions  of  home  and  kindred,  for  the  memories 


124  A    THANKSGIVING 

it  preserves  and  the  hopes  it  creates.  And 
as  often  as  it  comes,  let  our  thanks  be  sin 
cere,  our  charities  unbounded,  our  armchairs 
capacious,  our  turkeys  well  cooked.  Then, 
after  the  cloth  is  removed,  we  may  each 
stand  up  and  declare,  with  grateful  satisfac 
tion,  "  The  Duke  hath  dined  !  " 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 


SOCIETY   IN   THE   MENAGERIE 


THE  inhabitants  of  the  menagerie  have  a 
doctor  who  is  at  home  at  all  hours  of  the 
day.  He  has  his  prescriptions,  his  surgical 
instruments,  and  his  professional  anxieties. 
He  looks  into  the  eye  of  the  lion,  watches 
the  appetite  of  the  leopard,  notes  the  ner 
vousness  of  the  panther,  the  despondency  of 
the  bear,  the  shivering  fits  of  the  monkey, 
the  gluttonous  habit  of  the  ostrich,  the  pal 
ing  lips  of  the  seal.  And  although  he  can 
not  count  the  pulses  of  his  wild  patients  by 
the  tick  of  his  watch,  nor  examine  their 
tongues  with  that  openness  which  a  medical 
man  always  desires,  he  can  nevertheless  form 
a  pretty  good  estimate  of  the  daily  health  of 
each  individual  in  this  primeval  community. 

The  doctor  keeps  a  professional  diary, 
which  he  allowed  me  to  read.  It  contains  a 
record  of  the  sicknesses  in  the  menagerie,  of 


128        SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

the  symptoms  of  patients,  the  treatment,  and 
the  result.  For  example :  "  January  20, 
Panther  Joe  taken  sick,  very  feverish,  con 
tinual  vomiting,  gave  him  sugar  and  water." 
The  next  record  of  Joe's  illness  was  written 
on  the  ist  of  February:  "Panther  Joe  still 
down,  has  taken  no  food,  gave  him  tartar 
emetic ;  threw  off  considerable  yellow  fluid 
from  stomach."  The  panther's  illness  con 
tinues  without  abatement,  and  on  the  6th 
of  February  the  doctor  wrote  :  "  Panther  Joe 
has  eaten  nothing  yet,  tried  him  with  a  bird, 
also  with  milk  ;  will  take  nothing  but  water." 
Poor  Joe  !  He  is  indeed  very  sick  when  he 
turns  his  nose  away  from  a  bird.  But  there 
now  comes  a  change  ;  the  fever  leaves  him, 
and  a  few  days  later  it  is  recorded  in  the 
diary  that  Joe  has  eaten  a  little  raw  meat. 

A  leopard  gives  birth  to  four  cubs.  Two 
days  later  she  is  found  to  be  nervous  and 
restless.  She  takes  the  cubs  in  her  mouth, 
one  after  another,  and  carries  them  as  she 
silently  stalks  around  and  around  within  her 
cage.  She  lays  the  cubs  down,  picks  them 
up,  then  deposits  them  in  a  corner.  Evi 
dently  she  does  not  like  the  publicity  of  her 
position,  and  is  longing 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE         129 

"  For  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade," 

whither  she  may  retreat  to  enjoy  her  young 
ones,  far  away  from  the  eyes  of  men.  The 
doctor  orders  her  cage  to  be  covered  with 
canvas  so  that  no  one  can  see  her.  One  day 
she  clinches  her  teeth  through  two  of  the 
cubs,  and  kills  them  ;  the  remaining  two  are 
then  removed  from  the  cage  to  be  fed  from 
a  nursing  bottle.  After  a  while  they  are 
given  to  a  dog,  who  suckles  them  with  her 
pups  ;  and  by  this  care,  and  the  occasional 
use  of  the  nursing  bottle,  these  two  young 
leopards  get  on  in  the  world.  The  doctor's 
record  says  that  on  the  ninth  day  from  birth 
one  of  the  cubs  opens  an  eye ;  on  the  tenth 
day  each  cub  has  both  eyes  open  ;  on  the 
twentieth  day  their  canine  and  incisor  teeth 
are  cut  ;  on  the  fortieth  day  they  begin  to 
lap  with  their  tongues.  Now,  as  the  dog 
will  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  them, 
they  are  taken  away  and  put  on  exhibition. 

One  morning  the  doctor  is  called  to  a  wolf 
which  has  been  seized  with  fits.  He  treats 
it  with  a  salt-water  bath,  bleeding,  and  salt ; 
the  next  day  there  is  no  improvement ;  on 
the  third  day  the  wolf  is  seized  by  spasms, 


130        SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

and  dies.  The  inhabitants  of  the  menagerie 
die  of  every  disease  that  is  known  to  man. 
It  is  recorded  in  the  doctor's  book  that  a 
young  camel  died  of  an  enlargement  of  the 
heart ;  that  a  rattlesnake  died  of  a  cancer  in 
its  mouth,  which  is  a  common  disease  of  the 
serpent  tribe.  To  a  neighbor  of  mine  in  the 
city  there  were  consigned,  for  sale,  twenty 
boa  constrictors,  shipped  from  the  banks  of 
the  Amazon  River.  When  they  were  landed, 
three  were  found  to  have  cancers  in  the 
mouth.  An  anaconda  in  the  menagerie 
choked  itself  in  an  attempt  to  swallow  a 
blanket ;  an  ostrich  poisoned  itself  by  swal 
lowing  copper  pennies ;  a  beautiful  toucan, 
from  tropical  America,  swallowed  a  woman's 
hairpin,  and  died  from  ulceration.  The 
brightest  and  most  intelligent  of  these  pris 
oners,  a  Labrador  seal,  died  in  consequence 
of  cruel  tricks  played  upon  it ;  in  its  stomach 
were  found  "  stones,  nails,  screws,  shells,  but 
tons,"  which  human  barbarians  had  thrown 
to  it.  I  find  the  record  of  a  young  alligator 
whose  eyes  were  eaten  out  by  turtles  in  the 
night ;  of  a  peccary  dying  from  tubercles  in 
its  lungs ;  of  a  porcupine  bursting  a  blood 
vessel  near  the  heart.  Some  of  the  inhabi- 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE         131 

tants  of  the  menagerie  have  died  from  glut 
tony  ;  some  from  home-sickness  ;  some  from 
duels  fought  with  companions  ;  some  from  a 
long-continued  debility,  as  a  bear  that  ex 
pired  quietly  in  the  night,  from  what  men 
call  "heart  failure,"  or  want  of  breath.  An 
ocelot,  restless  and  weary  of  confinement, 
having  retired,  as  it  were,  from  business,  and 
knowing  not  what  to  do,  began  to  gnaw  its 
tail ;  the  doctor  ordered  tar  to  be  put  on  the 
end  of  it ;  but  the  creature  continued  to 
gnaw,  and  in  a  few  days  had  eaten  the  tail 
entirely  off;  then  it  died. 

The  menagerie  doctor  does  not  put  much 
faith  in  the  use  of  drugs,  and  he  finds  it  dif 
ficult  to  administer  them  if  his  patient  dis 
likes  them.  It  was  only  because  a  polar  bear 
was  fond  of  cod-liver  oil  that  the  doctor  was 
allowed  to  administer  it  for  a  sore  throat. 
All  wild  animals  possess  a  power  of  healing 
their  ordinary  wounds  by  dressing  with  their 
tongues;  but  when  attacked  by  a  disease, 
they  can  do  nothing  for  themselves,  and 
there  is  not  much  that  the  doctor  can  do  for 
them.  If  they  are  sick  unto  death,  they 
usually  seek  for  a  place  of  darkness  and  soli 
tude  in  which  to  wait  the  event. 


132         SOCIETY  IN  THE   MENAGERIE 

The  smaller  animals  are  always  trying  to 
escape  from  confinement.  Raccoons  and 
foxes  are  frequently  successful  in  attempts 
to  run  away  ;  their  natural  cunning  helps 
them.  One  night  four  foxes  scampered  off. 
An  Egyptian  goose  flew  away,  and  a  swan, 
attempting  to  follow  the  goose,  struck  its 
head  against  a  telegraph  wire,  and  fell  dead ; 
an  opossum  got  out  of  its  cage  in  the  night, 
and  made  its  supper  on  a  hawk  and  a  turtle 
dove  ;  an  eagle  broke  a  wire  of  its  cage,  and 
flew  away  to  the  mountains  of  freedom. 

Here  are  twelve  elephants  standing  in  a 
row,  each  chained  by  a  hind  leg  to  a  post. 
The  largest  of  these  sagacious  creatures  is 
thirty  years  old,  eleven  feet  high,  and  weighs 
twelve  thousand  pounds.  They  can  drink 
water,  bucket  after  bucket  full,  eat  hay  by 
the  bale,  and  are  fond  of  sweets,  apples,  and 
peanuts,  which  they  are  thankful  to  accept 
in  small  quantities  from  visitors  ;  they  stand 
quietly  with  open  mouths  to  play  catcher  to 
a  child  who  pitches  to  them  a  little  ball  of 
corn-candy.  An  example  of  the  sagacity  of 
these  creatures  was  noted  in  the  Manchester 
Zoo.  Near  the  stalls  of  the  elephants  were 
boxes  containing  biscuits,  which  could  be 


SOCIETY  IN  THE   MENAGERIE         133 

released  by  a  penny  put  into  a  slot.  Some 
visitors  occasionally  gave  to  the  elephants  a 
half  penny,  and  as  experience  had  taught 
them  that  this  coin  is  of  no  value  for  obtain 
ing  biscuits,  it  was  generally  thrown  back  to 
the  giver.  One  day  a  visitor  gave  the  baby 
elephant  a  number  of  half  pennies  in  succes 
sion,  each  of  which  was  thrown  back  as  soon 
as  received.  Two  half  pennies  were  then 
given  to  the  animal  at  the  same  time.  His 
demeanor  was  immediately  changed.  He 
held  the  two  coins  in  his  trunk,  rubbing  them 
together,  rocking  from  side  to  side,  and  seem 
ing  to  be  pondering  deeply.  At  last  he 
dropped  them  into  the  box  together,  and 
their  combined  weight  gave  him  the  desired 
biscuit.  His  joy  was  almost  ludicrous.  His 
big  ears  were  expanded,  and  he  gamboled 
about  in  a  manner  which  exhibited  the  most 
extravagant  delight. 

Notwithstanding  its  sagacity,  an  elephant 
may  be  easily  frightened  by  a  mouse.  A 
keeper  at  the  Bridgeport  menagerie  took  a 
string  having  a  slip-noose  in  its  end,  slipped 
it  around  the  body  of  a  mouse,  and  placed 
the  mouse  in  front  of  an  elephant.  As  soon 
as  the  elephant  saw  it  he  reared  up  in  a 


134        SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

fright,  and  tugged  to  get  away  from  his 
chain.  While  the  mouse  was  running  around 
the  circuit  allowed  by  the  string,  the  ele 
phant  watched  it  with  expressions  of  terror ; 
then  trembled,  turned  around,  and  screamed. 
The  same  experiment  was  tried,  with  similar 
results,  on  other  elephants ;  but  when  the 
mouse  was  placed  before  one  who  was  an 
old  resident  of  the  menagerie,  he  put  down 
his  trunk  near  it,  and  blew  it  away  in  such  a 
furious  blast  that  the  string  was  broken,  and 
the  mouse  disappeared  from  sight. 

Here  are  lions  "going  about,"  but  not 
"  roaring,"  although  it  is  evident  that  their 
only  thought  is  for  something  to  devour. 
They  are  fed  once  a  day  on  raw  meat ;  but 
on  Sunday  they  get  nothing  to  eat.  As  the 
daily  feeding  hour  draws  near,  they  stop 
their  perambulation  of  the  cage,  stand  alert, 
and  look  over  the  heads  of  the  visitors  to  a 
door  through  which  will  come  the  man  who 
always  brings  their  dinners.  "  Why  don't 
that  man  come  ?  "  they  are  evidently  saying 
to  themselves.  As  soon  as  they  have  eaten 
they  will  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep.  The 
tigers  are  not  as  sedate  as  the  lions.  While 
stalking  with  noiseless  tread  up  and  down 


SO  CIE  TY  IN  THE  MEN  A  GERIE         1 3  5 

the  cage,  their  heads  are  turned  frequently 
towards  the  open  door  with  thoughts  of  din 
ner-time  ;  sometimes  they  pause  and  raise 
themselves  on  hind  legs  to  get  a  more  ex 
tended  view  through  the  door ;  their  steps 
become  quicker  and  quicker  as  their  impa 
tience  increases  ;  now  they  are  standing  still, 
purring  against  the  bars,  curling  their  tails, 
because  they  see  the  dinner-man  coming. 

In  their  native  jungle,  tigers  become  man- 
eaters  as  soon  as  they  have  lost  their  fear  of 
man.  Then  they  are  cunning  enough  to 
avoid  all  traps  set  for  them  ;  and  they  are 
strong  enough  and  bold  enough  to  break  into 
houses  and  carry  off  the  inmates.  In  India 
the  terror  which  a  man-eating  tiger  causes 
has  depopulated  a  village  and  put  another  in 
a  state  of  siege,  the  inhabitants  being  afraid 
to  go  out  to  draw  water  from  a  stream  which 
was  but  a  short  distance  away. 

Lions  and  tigers  are  somewhat  particular 
in  washing  themselves.  They  wet,  with  the 
tongue,  the  pad  of  a  forefoot,  and  pass  it  to 
and  fro,  as  if  it  were  a  sponge,  over  the  face 
and  behind  the  ears.  The  rest  of  the  body 
they  comb  with  their  rough  tongues.  Their 
reception  rooms  —  the  cages  in  which  visi- 


136        SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

tors  see  them  —  are  swept,  and  carpeted 
with  sawdust  in  the  morning  before  their 
majesties  leave  the  sleeping  apartments. 
When  the  connecting  doors  are  drawn  open, 
the  beasts  come  out  at  their  leisure  to  begin 
the  day.  They  usually  sleep  late  in  the 
morning,  and  sometimes  they  come  out  with 
bounds  and  growls  as  if  they  had  not  passed 
a  pleasant  night.  Here  comes  a  tiger  of 
Bengal,  who  probably  has  received  a  curtain 
lecture  from  her  mate.  She  bounds  out  as 
soon  as  the  door  is  open,  stands  erect  and 
nervous,  as  if  she  wanted  something  to  do, 
switches  her  tail,  looks  into  each  corner  of 
the  cage,  and  calls  for  her  fellow  to  come 
forth,  as  if  she  desired  him  to  "knock  a 
chip  "  off  her  shoulder.  When  he  appears 
she  seems  to  be  satisfied  with  his  caress,  lies 
down,  rolls  over  on  her  back,  folds  her  paws 
on  her  breast,  and  falls  asleep,  with  the 
appearance  of  being  the  most  harmless  crea 
ture  in  the  world.  A  tiger  sleeps  sometimes 
in  the  attitude  of  a  cat,  with  forefeet  drawn 
under  the  body,  and  sometimes  in  the  atti 
tudes  of  a  dog,  resting  the  head  on  the  fore- 
paws  ;  or  stretched  at  full  length  on  a  side, 
the  paws  outspread.  In  another  cage  are 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE        137 

two  young  leopards  asleep,  the  head  of  one 
resting  lovingly  on  a  shoulder  of  the  other  ; 
and  you  think  you  would  enjoy  going  into 
the  cage  to  caress  the  little  beauties. 

Every  member  of  society  in  the  menage 
rie,  whether  young  or  old,  is  vicious  at  heart. 
The  savage  nature  may  be  restrained  while 
in  confinement,  but  it  is  not  eradicated. 
The  lion  and  the  lamb  can  never  lie  down 
together  in  menagerie  cages.  Even  beauti 
ful  creatures,  having  mild  eyes  and  gentle 
countenances,  are  not  to  be  trusted.  Deer 
are  savage ;  so  is  the  antelope  from  India ; 
so  is  the  little  springbok,  of  elegant  form, 
from  South  Africa.  "  You  can't  tell  what 
they  '11  do,"  said  a  keeper,  "  if  you  go  near 
them."  Therefore  the  keepers  are  always 
wary  when  entering  cages  ;  and  they  never 
enter  unless  it  is  necessary  to  do  so.  A 
kangaroo  seized  its  keeper  on  entering  the 
cage,  and  pinioned  him  erect  in  its  short  fore 
arms.  With  the  claws  of  its  powerful  hind 
legs  it  would  have  ripped  open  the  man's 
body  by  one  blow,  had  he  not  known  how  to 
crowd  the  beast  back  into  a  corner,  and  ham 
per  its  hind  legs  by  a  certain  pressure,  until 
opportunity  came  to  escape  from  the  embrace. 


138         SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

"  Those  black  panthers,"  said  a  keeper,  "  I 
raised  from  kittens.  I  used  to  go  into  their 
cage  until  they  got  grown  ;  then  I  quit.  I 
saw  they  did  n't  want  me  in  there  any  more. 
One  of  our  men  said  he  was  n't  afraid  to  go 
in,  and  he  went  ;  and  the  panthers  went  for 
him.  He  died  in  about  five  minutes  after 
we  got  him  out  of  the  cage." 

In  the  menagerie,  social  contact  causes  no 
irritation  between  individuals.  This  fact 
seems  to  mark  a  difference  between  the  tem 
peraments  of  wild  animals  and  of  men.  The 
interest  which  they  feel  in  each  other's  soci 
ety  was  shown  oy  the  following  incident  in 
the  Central  Park  Zoo  :  A  hyena  had  given 
birth  to  twins,  and  after  they  had  got  well 
started  in  life  it  became  necessary  to  clean 
out  the  cage.  To  do  this  the  mother  and 
young  ones  must  be  removed  to  an  adjoining 
cage,  and  the  father  who  is  occupying  it 
must  be  transferred  to  another  place.  When 
the  transfer  box  was  wheeled  in,  it  attracted 
attention  from  the  entire  society.  The  hip 
popotamuses  retreated  to  their  tank  and 
snorted  ;  while  the  baby  hippopotamus 
plunged  under  the  water,  and  stayed  there. 
The  lions,  tigers,  and  leopards  showed  their 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE        139 

interest,  at  first,  by  silent  watchings  ;  after 
wards  they  became  furiously  excited.  The 
mother  hyena  pushed  her  babies  into  a  cor 
ner  of  the  cage,  and  expressed  her  feelings 
in  cries  and  barks.  At  last  the  father  hyena 
went  quietly  into  the  box ;  but  when  this 
was  rolled  away,  the  noise  that  followed  it 
might  be  likened  (in  Milton's  words)  to  "  all 
hell  broke  loose."  Every  quadruped  that 
saw  what  had  been  done  roared  in  anger ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if 

"  The  universal  host  up  sent 
A  shout  that  tore  hell's  concave,  and  beyond 
Frighted  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night." 

Here  is  a  cage  occupied  by  monkeys, 
where  eating,  sleeping,  playing,  and  inquisi 
tive  works  go  on  continually.  It  offers  the 
most  amusing  spectacle  in  the  menagerie. 
A  mother  monkey  is  washing  her  children. 
If  one  of  them  resists,  she  picks  it  up  by  the 
tail  and  cuffs  it ;  if  one  is  sick,  she  holds  it 
gently  in  her  arms,  and  fondles  it  as  a  wo 
man  would  fondle  her  child.  The  doctor's 
record  shows  that  monkeys  take  cold  easily, 
suffer  from  ulcerated  sore  throats,  bronchitis, 
tuberculosis,  and  die  of  consumption,  as  do 
men  and  women. 


140        SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

Mr.  Crowley  was  a  monkey  (an  African 
ape),  whose  resemblance  to  man  gave  him 
that  name,  and  made  him  famous  as  long  as 
he  lived  in  the  Central  Park  Zoo.  He  ate 
his  daily  meals  while  sitting  in  a  chair  at  a 
table,  using  a  knife  and  fork  exactly  as  they 
are  used  by  civilized  people.  He  took  soup 
with  a  spoon,  wiped  his  lips  with  a  napkin, 
and  drank  from  a  cup  or  tumbler  held  in  his 
hand.  He  suddenly  died  of  pneumonia. 
Sally,  a  famous  ape  of  the  London  Zoo,  who 
died  from  a  disease  of  the  lungs,  behaved 
like  a  human  being  during  her  last  illness. 
She  came  to  the  front  of  her  cage  to  take 
medicine  when  told  to  do  so ;  and  when  she 
became  so  feeble  that  it  was  necessary  for 
her  to  stay  in  the  kennel,  she  reached'  out 
her  hand  to  welcome  the  doctor  whenever 
he  approached. 

Man  is  likely  to  have  a  more  intimate 
acquaintance  with  this  apparent  kinsman. 
There  has  been  obtained,  by  means  of  a 
phonograph,  evidence  of  the  existence  of 
speech  in  monkeys ;  and  an  attempt  is  to  be 
made  to  ascertain  the  meanings  and  modifi 
cations  of  some  of  their  labial  sounds.  Early 
one  morning,  as  I  was  riding  on  the  summit 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE        141 

of  the  Bombay  Ghauts  near  Mattaran,  I  saw 
ahead  of  me,  in  a  field  bordering  the  bridle 
path,  a  large  monkey  seated  on  the  ground 
and  watching  the  gambols  of  half  a  dozen 
young  ones.  These  were  wrestling,  jump 
ing,  and  playing  tag  like  boys  and  girls.  As 
soon  as  the  old  monkey  discovered  me  ap 
proaching,  she  uttered  a  word  which  called 
all  the  children  to  her  side.1  Motioning 
them  to  go  behind  her,  as  if  for  safety,  she 
faced  me  while  I  passed  by  under  inspection 
of  the  curious  eyes  of  the  family.  Curiosity 
is  as  strong  in  monkeys  as  in  men.  They 
show  as  much  curiosity  about  their  visitors 
in  the  menagerie  as  the  visitors  show  about 
them.  Curiosity  has  caused  a  monkey  to 
drag  a  chair  across  a  room,  and  stand  on  it 
that  he  might  reach  a  latch  which  he  wanted 
to  open,  and  to  use  sticks  to  pry  open  the 

1  "  They  talk  with  one  another  on  a  limited  number  of 
subjects,  but  in  very  few  words,  which  they  frequently  re 
peat  if  necessary.  Their  language  is  purely  one  of  sounds, 
and  while  these  sounds  are  accompanied  by  signs,  as  a 
rule,  I  think  they  are  quite  able  to  get  along  better  with 
the  sounds  alone  than  with  signs  alone.  The  rules  by 
which  we  may  interpret  the  sounds  of  simian  speech  are 
the  same  as  those  by  which  we  should  interpret  human 
speech." —  The  Speech  of  Monkeys,  by  R.  L.  Garner. 


142         SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

lid  of  a  chest  which  he  was  curious  to  exam 
ine.  In  the  London  Zoo  a  violin  was  played 
before  a  cage  containing  an  orang-outang, 
who  was  ranked  as  the  most  intelligent 
member  of  the  Zoo  society.  He  seated  him 
self  facing  the  player,  and  while  chewing  a 
straw,  he  gravely  listened  to  the  music,  curi 
ous  to  understand  its  meaning.  "  He  looks 
just  like  our  manager  when  a  new  piece  is 
on  !  "  said  the  violinist,  as  he  ended  the  sere 
nade. 

The  monkey's  likeness  to  man  is  very  ap 
parent  when  dressed  in  man's  clothes.  The 
captain  of  a  brig  lying  at  anchor  in  the 
Congo  River  saw  on  shore  an  ape  wearing 
trousers,  and  leading  a  horse.  He  bought 
the  creature,  and  brought  it  to  New  York, 
where  it  was  seized  by  custom-house  officers 
for  non-payment  of  protective  duties,  and 
was  sold  at  auction  in  July,  1892.  At  the 
sale  it  was  noticed  that  the  ape  chewed  to 
bacco  and  drank  lager  beer,  holding  the  tum 
bler  in  hand  while  drinking ;  he  was  then 
wearing  a  jacket,  trousers,  and  a  straw  hat. 
Looking  on  this  scene,  one  may  ask  :  Did 
man  descend  from  this  imitation  of  himself  ? 

He  did,  according  to  the  Darwinian  the- 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE         143 

ory,  which  teaches  that  the  human  race  and 
a  race  of  anthropoid  apes  had  the  same  ori 
gin  ;  "  however  much  the  conclusion  may 
revolt  our  pride,"  says  Mr.  Darwin.1  The 
process  of  descent  was  by  "  natural  selec 
tion,"  as  it  is  called,  or  "the  survival  of  the 
fittest,"  which  means  the  fittest  to  survive  in 
the  struggle  for  existence.  We  are  there 
fore  to  believe  that  man,  in  the  remote  period 
of  his  origin,  resembled,  to  some  extent,  the 
late  Mr.  Crowley  of  the  Central  Park  Zoo, 
and  the  lager  -  beer  -  drinking  ape  who  was 
seized  by  his  brothers  of  the  custom  house. 

1  Darwin's  theory  of  the  origin  of  man  cannot  be  stated 
better  than  in  the  following  words  from  his  Descent  of 
Man  (Pt.  I.  ch.  6):  "An  ancient  form  which  possessed 
many  characters  common  to  the  catarrhine  and  platyrrhine 
monkeys,  and  others  in  an  intermediate  condition,  and 
some  few  perhaps  distinct  from  those  now  present  in  either 
group,  would  undoubtedly  have  been  ranked,  if  seen  by  a 
naturalist,  as  an  ape  or  a  monkey.  And  as  man,  under  a 
genealogical  point  of  view,  belongs  to  the  catarrhine  or 
Old  World  stock,  we  must  conclude,  however  much  the 
conclusion  may  revolt  our  pride,  that  our  early  progenitors 
would  have  been  properly  thus  designated.  But  we  must 
not  fall  into  the  error  of  supposing  that  the  early  progenitor 
of  the  whole  simian  stock,  including  man,  was  identical 
with,  or  even  closely  resembled,  any  existing  ape  or  mon 
key."  The  evolutionists  have  never  given  any  satisfactory 
explanation  of  the  manner  in  which  man  acquired  speech. 


144        SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE 

The  primary  ancestors  of  the  Congo  ape  and 
of  its  owner  were  affiliated  ;  in  the  process 
of  evolution  the  original  types  melted  away, 
and  others  appeared  in  their  places  ;  and  as 
these  traveled  "  down  the  ringing  grooves  of 
change,"  a  race  of  bipeds  was  developed  fit 
ted  to  survive  and  improve  under  the  new 
conditions  which  animal  life  on  the  earth  had 
to  encounter. 

This  was  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Mr. 
Crowley's  type  was  left  stationary ;  and 
man's  type,  in  a  state  of  savagery,  came  to 
the  front  as  a  survivor  of  the  fittest.  At  this 
point  of  survival  there  could  have  been  but  a 
small  difference  between  man  and  monkey. 
The  former  was  nothing  more  than  a  "  pri 
meval  semi-human  savage,"  1  the  wild  "  brute 
ancestor  of  man,"  2  whose  "  appearance  was 
not  so  very  different  from  that  of  his  brother 
ape."  3 

Neither  of  these  creatures  had  yet  acquired 
any  articulate  speech  ;  and  we  may  suppose 
that  each  chattered  like  an  original  monkey, 
and  " grunted  and  howled,"4  as  does  the 

1  Fiske,  Darwinism,  p.  46. 

2  Fiske,  The  Destiny  of  Man,  p.  28. 

8  Ibid.  p.  29.  4  Fiske,  Darwinism,  p.  44. 


SOCIETY  IN  THE  MENAGERIE        145 

monkey  tribe  now.  They  lived  as  brutes  in 
herds ;  their  dwelling-places  were  caves  and 
trees  and  similar  shelters  provided  by  Na 
ture  ;  they  quarreled  with  each  other  in  the 
spirit  of  selfishness,  as  wild  animals  quarrel, 
and  as  wild  animals  they  lived  and  died. 
All  the  time  Nature  was  working  out  her 
process  of  evolution,  leaving  the  ape  behind, 
and  carrying  forward  the  "  semi-human  sav 
age  "  through  his  upward  grades  of  savagery, 
and  his  upward  grades  of  barbarism,  into  the 
dawning  lights  of  civilization.  Thus  man 
became  "  the  heir  of  all  the  ages." 


THE   MIND   OF   MY   DOG 


THE   MIND   OF   MY  DOG 


"  There  is  no  doubt  that  all  of  our  thinking,  except  the 
most  simple  and  rudimentary,  is  carried  on  with  the  aid  of 
words." 

"  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  we  cannot  think,  cannot 
compare,  or  reason,  or  feel,  or  approve,  or  disapprove, 
without  language." 

I  WONDER  what  my  dog  would  say  about 
these  contradictory  opinions  of  two  eminent 
men ;  for  it  is  certain  that  he  understands 
language  and  has  a  thinking  machinery, 
which  he  carries  on  both  with  the  aid  of 
words  and  without  their  aid.  He  has  been 
my  comrade  for  ten  years ;  a  large  white  set 
ter,  with  red  cheeks  penciled  off  from  the 
white  with  exact  regularity,  red  ears,  a  red 
spot  on  his  back.  The  marks  of  his  mind 
are  as  distinct  as  those  of  his  body.  The 
extent  of  his  intelligence  and  the  gentle 
beauty  of  his  countenance  are  as  notable  as  is 


150  THE  MIND  OF  MY  DOG 

his  loyalty  to  me.  I  am  prompted  to  say, 
when  he  is  stretched  at  my  feet  watching  me, 
as  if  to  learn  my  thoughts  :  — 

"  I  look  into  your  great  brown  eyes, 

Where  love  and  loyal  homage  shine, 
And  wonder  where  the  difference  lies 
Between  your  soul  and  mine  !  " 

In  the  morning,  Spot  (that  is  the  name  of 
my  dog)  comes  to  my  bedroom  door  and  gets 
admission.  I  leave  him  there,  and  going  to 
the  bathroom,  I  say :  "  Do  you  want  your 
face  washed  ? "  He  appears  in  a  few  mo 
ments  at  the  bathroom  door  and  lifts  up  his 
face  to  be  washed.  When  I  say  "  that 's 
enough,"  he  goes  away.  As  I  leave  my 
house  to  go  to  the  city,  he  accompanies  me 
to  the  door,  then  goes  to  a  window  and 
watches  me,  and  if  he  loses  sight  of  me  at 
one  window,  he  hurries  to  another.  He 
knows  at  what  time  I  ought  to  return  in  the 
afternoon ;  he  never  mistakes  the  train  ; 
when  it  is  due,  he  runs  up  and  down  stairs  to 
find  some  one  who  will  open  the  front  door 
and  let  him  out  to  meet  me.  If  it  is  rain 
ing  he  will  meet  me  at  the  station  with  an 
umbrella  in  his  mouth.  When  he  sees  my 
trunk  brought  downstairs  he  shows  that  he 


THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG  151 

knows  I  am  going  away  for  a  long  absence  ; 
and  he  knows  I  am  going  out  for  a  walk  only, 
when  he  sees  me  take  up  my  hat  and  cane  on 
a  Sunday  afternoon.  When  the  servant  says, 
"  Dinner  is  served,"  he  goes  with  the  family 
to  the  dining-room.  If  I  am  not  there  he 
goes  through  the  house  in  search  of  me,  and 
when  he  finds  me  he  tells  me  by  his  actions 
what  he  heard  the  servant  say.  In  the  even 
ing  he  places  himself  near  me,  and  some 
times  he  gets  up  and  stands  gazing  at  me 
with  intense  earnestness,  his  head  erect  and 
his  tail  waving.  I  know  that  now  he  has 
something  on  his  mind.  I  put  down  my 
book  and  say,  "  What  do  you  want  ?  "  I  ask, 
for  example,  "  Do  you  want  some  water  ?  " 
If  he  still  gazes  at  me,  I  know  that  I  have 
not  guessed  his  want.  If  I  say  to  him,  "  Do 
you  want  to  go  outdoors  ?  then  get  my  hat !  " 
he  runs  into  the  hall,  finds  the  hat  and 
brings  it  to  me  with  an  evident  feeling  of 
pride  that  I  have  understood  him.  If  I  am 
told,  "  Spot  has  been  a  naughty  boy  to-day ; 
he  went  off  on  a  tramp,"  and  I  look  at  him 
and  say  in  a  severe  tone,  "  Where  have  you 
been  ?  "  he  immediately  hurries  to  me,  puts 
his  forefeet  on  my  lap,  licks  my  chin,  and 


I$2  THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG 

lays  his  head  against  me.  I  interpret  these 
motions  as  his  language  saying  in  reply  to 
my  question,  "  Don't  speak  of  it,  but  forgive 
me."  He  repeats  this  language  until  I  say, 
"I  forgive  you;"  then  he  retires  satisfied. 
When  he  comes  into  the  house,  he  goes  first 
to  the  room  in  which  I  am  accustomed  to  be. 
If  I  am  not  there,  he  goes  upstairs  to  my 
study.  Not  finding  me  there,  he  goes  into 
my  bedroom  and  looks  through  it ;  then  up 
to  the  attic  and  searches  all  the  rooms  ;  then 
downstairs  and  visits  each  of  the  rooms 
again,  in  turn.  If  some  one  says  to  him, 
during  his  search,  "  Can't  you  find  him  ? " 
he  turns  to  that  person  with  a  wistful  look, 
which  says,  "  Do  tell  me  where  he  is  ! "  He 
pursues  the  same  course  to  find  me  that  a 
man  would  pursue,  by  planning  and  execut 
ing  a  search  through  all  parts  of  the  house. 

All  these  acts  are  the  work  of  a  mind. 
His  mind  works  also  in  dreams.  Lying 
asleep  he  is  sometimes  agitated  by  an  im 
aginary  encounter  with  a  foe,  or  by  sensa 
tions  of  being  in  peril ; 

"  Like  a  dog  he  hunts  in  dreams." 

The  mind  in  one  dog  is  not  like  the  mind 


THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG  153 

in  another.  There  are  bright  dogs  and  there 
are  stupid  dogs  ;  there  are  good  dogs  and 
there  are  rascal  dogs  ;  there  are  dogs  who 
feel  keenly  a  word  of  reproach,  and  there 
are  dogs  who  resent  it.  Men  may  be  di 
vided  into  the  same  classes. 

The  truth  is,  that  peculiarities  of  charac 
ter  and  mental  condition  are  as  strongly 
marked  in  individual  dogs  as  they  are  in  in 
dividual  men  and  women.  This  results  partly 
from  their  lineage  and  partly  from  the 
circumstances  in  which  they  have  been  edu 
cated.  As  a  dog  reaches  mental  maturity 
when  he  has  lived  seven  or  eight  years,  or 
half  of  his  natural  lifetime,  his  period  of  edu 
cation  is  brief ;  hence  it  is  said,  "  You  can 
not  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks."  And  if  he 
is  always  hustled  out  of  the  house  and  com 
pelled  to  seek  his  society  in  the  street  or  in 
the  stable,  he  will  become  inferior  in  mental 
and  moral  development  to  one  who  is  allowed 
to  enjoy  the  sympathetic  company  and  hu 
manizing  influences  of  a  household. 

I  have  come  to  believe  that  a  person  who 
shows  love  for  a  dog,  thereby  shows  the 
possession  of  some  of  the  best  elements  of 
human  nature.  Such  a  love  is  returned  in 


154  THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG 

large  abundance  by  the  dog,  to  whom  it  be 
comes  a  tie  binding  him  to  his  master,  in 
whose  society  he  thenceforth  finds  the  com 
plete  satisfaction  of  life.  This  love  grows 
easily  out  of  home  companionship,  from  which 
gradually  comes  an  intimate  knowledge  of 
the  canine  heart  and  an  appreciation  of  its 
strength  and  loyalty.  When  reading  the 
Journal  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  I  came  upon 
a  record  which  revealed  a  noble  phase  of  his 
character.  It  was  written  on  the  day  of  the 
beginning  of  the  disasters  which  finally  over 
whelmed  him.  "  My  extremity  is  come,"  he 
wrote.  "I  suppose  it  will  involve  my  all. 
This  news  will  make  sad  hearts  at  Darnick, 
and  in  the  cottages  of  Abbotsford.  I  am  half 
resolved  never  to  see  the  place  again.  My 
dogs  will  wait  for  me  in  vain.  The  thoughts 
of  parting  from  these  dumb  creatures  have 
moved  me  more  than  any  of  the  painful  re 
flections  I  have  put  down.  Poor  things  !  I 
must  get  them  kind  masters ;  there  may  be 
those  who,  yet  loving  me,  may  love  my  dog 
because  it  has  been  mine.  ...  I  find  my 
dogs'  feet  on  my  knees.  I  hear  them  whin 
ing  and  seeking  me  everywhere ;  this  is 
nonsense,  but  it  is  what  they  would  do  could 
they  know  how  things  are." 


THE   MIND    OF  MY  DOG  15$ 

The  dog  approaches  man  very  closely  in 
his  feelings.  There  are  but  few  human 
emotions  that  he  does  not  show  ;  and  yet 
there  are  persons  who  cannot  understand 
one's  love  for  a  favorite  dog ;  such  a  dog,  for 
example,  as  "  Geist,"  whose  name  has  been 
made  immortal  by  Matthew  Arnold's  lyrical 
elegy  at  his  grave.  Geist  lived  only  four 
years.  Let  me  paraphrase  the  reflections 
of  the  master  on  the  lost  life  of  his  "  dear 
little  friend :"  — 

Four  years !  Is  it  true,  my  dear  little  friend, 
that  thy  loving  heart  and  patient  soul  were  in 
tended  to  reach  so  soon  the  end  of  their  exist 
ence,  as  if  to  teach  to  me  the  brevity  of  human 
life? 

In  thy  liquid,  melancholy  eyes  I  saw  the  soul- 
fed  springs  of  human  emotions.  I  saw  a  sensi 
bility  to  tears  for  sorrow,  a  sympathy  for  suffer 
ing;  such  as  ./Eneas  felt  when  he  exclaimed, 
"Tears  are  due  to  human  misery,  and  human 
sufferings  touch  the  heart !  " 1  I  also  saw  in  thee 

1  "  That  liquid,  melancholy  eye, 

From  whose  pathetic  soul-fed  springs 
Seem'd  surging  the  Virgilian  cry  ; 
The  sense  of  tears  in  mortal  things." 

The  "  Virgilian  cry,"  to  which  Matthew  Arnold  alludes, 
is  the  exclamation  of  ^Eneas,  when,  with  his  friend 


156  THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG 

a  gayety  of  spirit  and  an  heroic  temper.  And  is 
it  possible  that  four  years  was  their  whole  short 
day? 

As  the  past  can  never  be  repeated,  so  thou 
canst  never  be  restored  to  me.  Not  all  the  ma 
chinery  of  coming  centuries,  not  all  the  resources 
of  nature,  with  her  vast  powers  of  creation,  can 
bring  thee  back.  There  may  come  another  Geist, 
somewhat  resembling  thee  ;  but  thy  little  self  can 
never  see  life  again ! 

Such  is  the  stern  law  to  which  man  must  sub 
mit.  But  finding  it  hard  to  bear,  he  imagines 
for  himself  an  immortality,  a  second  life  ;  I  know 
not  what  it  is  to  be,  nor  where. 

It  was  not   so  with  Geist,  who,   without  any 

Achates,  he  was  looking  at  the  decorations  of  the  Temple 
of  Juno  at  Carthage.  Among  these  he  saw  a  painting 
which  represented  the  long  series  of  battles  preceding  the 
Fall  of  Troy.  The  scene  bringing  to  mind  all  the  miseries 
and  sorrows  of  that  event,  he  shed  tears,  and  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Sunt  lacrimae  rerum,  et  mentem  mortalia  tangunt !  " 
[Tears  are  due  to  human  misery,  and  human  sufferings  touch  the  heart !] 

Connington's  translation  of  this  line  is  :  — 
"  E'en  here  the  tear  of  pity  springs, 
And  hearts  are  touched  by  human  things. " 

The  thought  in  Arnold's  mind  was,  evidently,  this: 
The  sympathetic  heart  of  Geist,  as  revealed  in  his  eyes, 
expressed  the  same  sympathy  in  human  sorrows  which 
tineas  felt  when  he  saw  the  picture  in  the  temple.  This 
reference  to  the  "  Virgilian  cry "  was  a  tribute  to  the 
human  emotions  of  the  dog. 


THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG  157 

thought  of  a  second  life,  when  the  hour  struck, 
laid  himself  humbly  down  to  die ;  giving  a  last 
glance  of  love  to  his  despondent  master. 

I  will  not  let  his  memory  perish.  I  will  em 
balm  it  in  this  verse,  which  shall  rehearse  to  fu 
ture  generations  his  wonderful  arts,  his  ways,  his 
looks.  Still  I  see  him  everywhere.  I  stroke  his 
brown  paws ;  I  call  him  to  his  vacant  chair ;  I 
hail  him  at  the  window ;  I  hear  his  scuffle  on 
the  stairs ;  I  see  him  lift  his  ears  to  ask  which  way 
I  am  going.  Everything  brings  to  mind  some 
recollection  of  my  little  friend  now  gone  forever. 

I  was  all  the  world  to  him ;  and  being  fondly 
zealous  for  his  fame,  I  am  not  content  merely  to 
embalm  his  memory  in  verse  ;  I  will  strive  by 
other  means  to  carry  his  fame  to  future  years ;  I 
will  bury  him  close  by,  where  the  grass  is  smooth 
and  warm,  marking  with  a  stone  his  last  abode  ; 
and  when  I,  too,  shall  have  passed  away,  those 
who  see  his  grave  will  stop  and  say  :  "  The  peo 
ple  who  lived  here  long  ago  intended,  by  this 
stone,  to  make  known  to  future  times  their  little 
friend  Geist." 

Thus  I,  through  the  power  of  my  verse,  will 
revive  to  immortality  that  four-years'  life  which 
has  been  destroyed  by  nature.  Geist  shall  be 
come  immortal ;  he  shall  live  forever  in  the 
realm  of  art ! 


158  THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG 

The  man  who  does  not  love  his  dog  knows 
nothing  of  the  truth  expressed  by  Cole 
ridge  :  — 

"  He  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well, 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast." 

I  have  always  felt  an  interest  in  "  a  dog 
that  the  king  loved  "  and  lost.  Samuel 
Pepys  wrote  in  his  diary,  May  25,  1660: 
"  I  went,  and  Mr.  Mansell  and  one  of  the 
King's  footmen  and  a  dog  that  the  King 
loved,  in  a  boat  by  ourselves,  and  so  got  on 
shore  when  the  King  did."  This  occurred 
at  the  landing  of  Charles  the  Second  at 
Dover,  when  he  was  called  from  Holland  to 
the  throne  of  England.  The  "dog  that  the 
king  loved  "  was  not  forgotten  in  the  confu 
sion  of  that  memorable  day.  But  soon  after 
the  landing  the  dog  was  lost ;  and  the  follow 
ing  advertisement  appeared  in  a  London 
newspaper  of  June  28,  1660,  which,  it  may 
be  supposed,  refers  to  the  "  dog  that  the  king 
loved  :"  — 

"  We  must  call  upon  you  again  for  a  black 
Dog,  between  a  Grayhound  and  a  Spaniel,  no 
white  about  him,  only  a  streak  on  his  Brest,  and 
his  Tayl  a  little  bobbed.  It  is  his  Majesties 
own  Dog,  and  doubtless  was  stoln,  for  the  Dog 


THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG  159 

was  not  born  nor  bred  in  England,  and  would 
never  forsake  his  Master.  Whosoever  findes  him 
may  acquaint  any  at  Whitehal,  for  the  Dog  was 
better  known  at  Court  than  those  who  stole  him. 
Will  they  never  leave  robbing  his  Majesty  ?  Must 
he  not  keep  a  dog  ?  " 

This  dog  was  "known  at  Court"  because 
he  lived  with  his  master.  The  dog-owner, 
who  imitates  the  king's  example  in  this  re 
spect,  will  learn  to  love  his  dog. 

How  many  men  are  as  magnanimous  as 
my  dog?  How  many  have  his  sense  of 
pride,  of  shame,  of  compassion,  of  wrong,  and 
of  right  ?  He  is  a  better  example  than  is 
usually  seen  in  man,  of  the  truth  that  obedi 
ence  is  the  natural  sequel  of  love.  He  pos 
sesses  what  is  called  reason,  because  he  has 
abstract  ideas  which  he  shows  by  inten 
tionally  adapting  means  to  ends.  This  act 
carries  with  it  a  knowledge  of  the  relation 
between  the  means  that  he  employs  and  the 
ends  that  he  has  in  view.  You  may  see  this 
in  the  action  of  a  shepherd's  dog  when  he  is 
told  to  head  off  a  flock  of  sheep  in  a  narrow 
lane,  and  he  is  behind  the  flock.  He  will 
jump  over  the  fence  and  run  up  on  the  out 
side  of  it  until  he  gets  opposite  the  head  of 


160  THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG 

the  flock,  when  he  will  jump  into  the  lane 
and  turn  the  sheep  back.  A  boy  sent  on  the 
same  errand  will  do  it  in  the  same  way.  A 
dog  who  is  fond  of  going  out  with  his  mas 
ter's  carriage  will  hide  himself  when  he  hears 
an  order  for  the  carriage,  lest  he  should  be 
tied  up  and  prevented  from  going  with  it.  It 
is  well  known  that  chained  dogs  having  a 
.passion  for  killing  sheep  will  slip  off  their 
collars  to  go  on  a  raid,  and  on  their  return 
will  slip  into  their  collars  and  give  themselves 
an  innocent  appearance.  A  dog  who  has 
been  given  meat  at  regular  times,  is  ordered, 
as  the  meat  is  put  before  him,  not  to  eat  it ; 
he  obeys  this  order,  and  waits.  Such  acts 
are  the  result  of  a  process  of  reasoning.  You 
cannot  call  them  instinct  in  a  dog,  unless 
you  call  them  instinct  in  a  man  ;  for  in  each 
the  mental  process  is  similar. 

When  a  dog  has  passed  beyond  his  period 
of  infancy  his  acts  are  attended  by  conscious 
ness,  which  is  the  opposite  of  instinct.  In 
animals  lower  than  the  dog  on  the  scale  of 
creation,  instinct  is  hereditary ;  experience 
does  not  affect  it.  John  Fiske  describes  it 
by  saying :  "  The  physical  life  of  the  lowest 
animals  consists  of  a  few  simple  acts  directed 


THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG  i~6l 

toward  the  securing  of  food  and  the  avoid 
ance  of  danger,  and  these  acts  we  are  in  the 
habit  of  classing  as  instinctive."  l  Such  ani 
mals  have  nothing  to  learn  ;  their  career  is 
generally  a  repetition  of  the  careers  of  their 
ancestors.  I  have  a  dog  who,  when  he  wants 
the  door  opened  to  admit  him,  strikes  it  with 
his  paw.  His  mother  asked  for  admission  in 
the  same  way.  Another  stands  before  the 
door  and  whines  for  admission.  So  did  his 
mother.  While  the  dog  has  the  power  of  do 
ing  some  acts  which  its  ancestors  did,  it  also 
has  latent  capacities  which  are  brought  out 
by  experience.  Up  to  a  certain  point  ex 
perience  develops  the  canine  mind  as  it 
develops  the  human  mind.  The  difference 
between  the  growths  of  the  two  minds  lies 
in  the  natural  limitations  of  the  one,  and  in 
the  unlimited  expansions  of  which  the  other 
is  capable. 

As  I  study  my  dog's  consciousness  it  is 
hard  to  believe  that  there  is  no  eternal  life 
for  him,  while  I  am  asked  by  philanthropists 
to  believe  that  there  is  one  for  such  inferior 
animals  as  the  pigmy  in  Equatorial  Africa, 
and  the  intoxicated  vagabond  whom  my  dog 

1   The  Destiny  of  Man,  p.  39. 


162  THE  MIND   OF  MY  DOG 

will  not  permit  to  approach  my  door.  Some 
quadrupeds  as  well  as  men  were  saved  in  the 
ark.  Will  any  dogs  be  saved  in  the  day 
when  "  Final  ruin  fiercely  drives  her  plough 
share  o'er  creation  ? " 

"  Can  the  love  that  filled  those  eyes, 
With  most  eloquent  replies, 
When  the  glossy  head  close  pressing, 
Grateful  met  your  hand's  caressing, 
Can  the  mute  intelligence, 
Baffling  oft  our  human  sense 
With  strange  wisdom,  buried  be 
Under  the  wild  cherry-tree  ? " 

Sad  as  it  may  appear,  there  can  be  but  one 
answer  to  such  inquiries.  Neither  man  nor 
dog  is  born  for  immortality  by  reason  of  be 
ing  born  with  a  mind.  The  Scriptures  teach 
that  immortality  is  a  state  for  which  man 
alone  is  a  candidate ;  to  him  it  is  offered  on 
one  condition,  which  is  embraced  in  the 
words  of  Him  who  spake  as  never  man 
spake :  "  He  that  heareth  me  and  believeth 
on  Him  that  sent  me  hath  eternal  life." 
This  life  has  not  been  offered  to  dogs.  The 
mental  attributes  of  my  dog,  which  have 
attracted  attention,  must  be  considered  as 
indicating  merely  his  fitness  for  the  purposes 
of  his  existence  as  my  companion.  When 
his  life  ends  his  mind  must  perish  with  it. 


DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 


DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC. 


LIFE  on  a  ship  is  out  of  all  harmony  with 
life  ashore.  The  dawn  of  the  first  morning 
at  sea  is  the  beginning  of  a  new  sort  of  exist 
ence.  You  find  yourself  in  a  strange  house, 
filled  by  strange  people,  strange  noises,  and 
strange  odors.  There  are  no  familiar  asso 
ciations  ;  the  range  of  your  movements  be 
comes  narrow  and  limited  ;  the  range  of  your 
eyes  is  bounded  by  a  monotonous  horizon ; 
you  see  in  the  great  strength  and  bulk  of  the 
ship  indications  of  perils  that  may  be  encoun 
tered  ;  even  the  flowers,  with  which  unwise 
friends  persisted  in  adorning  your  cabin,  sug 
gest  unpleasant  thoughts  as  they  "  suffer  a 
sea  change  "  and  are  thrown  overboard. 

Saturday.  —  The  pilot  was  discharged 
early  in  the  afternoon.  The  steamship  was 
reeling  off  the  line  of  her  voyage  with  rapid 
speed,  when  "  the  long  black  land  "  sunk  out 


1 66     DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

of  sight  in  the  west,  and  the  sun  went  down. 
At  the  same  time  a  sinking  of  the  heart  was 
felt  by  homesick  passengers. 

Sunday.  —  Morning  is  ushered  in  with 
various  noises  made  by  scrubbing-brushes, 
holy-stones,  squilgees,  and  cataracts  of  water 
traversing  the  decks.  The  boatswain's  whis 
tle  summons  the  watch  to  make  sail.  Eight 
een  rugged  men  take  the  foretopsail  hal 
yards  in  their  hands  and  strike  into  a  song ; 
the  leader  of  the  watch  repeating  the  solo  in 
a  stentorian  voice,  while  all  hands  are  lively 
on  the  chorus.  Here  it  is  :  — 


SOLO. 


A     strong  sou-  west-er's     blow-  ing,  boys!    To     me 
r^  SOLO. 

•way    hay    storm    a  -long,  John.  Hark  !  don't  ye 

CHORUS. 


hear     it  ...     roar  -  ing,  boys!    Ah,     ha!  come     a- 
long,     get      a   -    long,      storm  a  -    long,  John. 

And  as  the  song  runs  its  rounds,  the  heavy 


DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC     167 

foretopsail  yard  slides  slowly  up  to  the  mast 
head.  "  Now  haul  in  the  lee  braces,"  says 
the  whistle ;  and  the  men,  tailing  on  the 
ropes,  tramp  the  deck  to  another  endless  song 
and  chorus :  — 

SOLO. 


We '11  haul    the  bow -line  so  ear-ly  in    the  morn-ing. 
CHORUS. 


We  Ul haul   the  bow  -  line,  the   bow  -  line     haul  J 


"  Belay  all,"  shouted  by  the  boatswain,  puts 
an  end  to  the  work,  and  to  the  sleep  of  the 
passengers.  As  the  day  wears  on,  a  few  sea 
sick  people,  swathed  in  shawls,  are  brought 
up  from  their  rooms,  and  are  carefully  packed 
into  reclining  chairs  standing  along  the  deck. 
These  people  have  already  become  faint 
hearted  and  disgusted  with  their  venture  on 
the  sea.  Some  of  them  say  that  they  would 
give  a  large  price  if  they  could  now  be  put 
on  board  a  steamer  to  return  directly  home  ; 
and  they  say  that  if  they  get  safely  back 
from  this  voyage  (of  which  result  they  appear 
to  have  doubts),  they  will  never  go  to  sea 
again  ;  never,  so  long  as  they  live  ! 


1 68     DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

There  are  passengers  who  sympathize 
with  the  sufferers,  and  are  ready  to  tell  them 
what  is  "  good  for  seasickness."  They  pre 
scribe  for  the  poor  creatures  an  anodyne 
plaster,  or  sulphuric  ether ;  some  say  that 
lemon  juice  is  good,  and  some  say  cham 
pagne.  Pills  and  plasters  are  recommended, 
also  Christian  science  and  cracked  ice.  But 
nobody  praises  the  virtues  of  the  shore. 
And  yet,  the  only  preventive  of  seasickness, 
for  those  who  will  be  seasick,  is  the  immova 
ble  shore. 

Other  passengers,  who  have  stout  stom 
achs,  are  now  trying  to  get  on  their  "  sea 
legs  ;  "  they  are  trying  to  walk  fore  and  aft 
the  rolling  ship,  making  one  leg  shorter  than 
the  other  at  will,  as  they  walk.  Those  who 
cannot  acquire  this  skill,  or  who  refuse  to  be 
supple-kneed  to  the  ocean,  go  skiting  into  the 
lee  scuppers,  where  they  lose  their  dignity 
and  their  temper ;  and  these  also  wish  they 
had  stayed  ashore. 

So  the  first  day  of  the  voyage  brings  a 
severe  trial  to  inexperienced  voyagers.  Their 
nerves  are  shattered,  their  bones  ache,  their 
sensations  are  disagreeable,  their  courage  is 
exhausted,  they  become  weary  and  faint, 


DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC     169 

while  the  ship  offers  them  no  consolation  but 
a  broth  with  onions  in  it.  And  yet  delicate 
women,  for  the  hopes  which  London  and 
Paris  hold  forth,  do  not  hesitate  to  submit 
themselves  to  this  sea  of  uncleanly  sufferings. 

But  he  who  is  fond  of  voyaging,  and  who 
is  never  disturbed  by  the  sea,  will  not  wish 
for  a  more  enjoyable  day  than  this.  The 
ship  is  doing  her  best  work ;  steadied  by  her 
topsails  and  staysails,  she  is  running  and 
rolling  to  the  east  with  an  alacrity  that  suits 
an  old  sea-traveler's  ideas.  With  what  grace 
of  motion  she  lifts  her  head  and  then  dips  it 
to  the  waters  !  How  prettily  she  swings 
from  larboard  to  starboard,  while  steadily 
pushing  her  way  over  long  ranges  of  waves, 
swelling  in  vast  heaps,  which  appear  as  if 
they  were  about  to  slide  down  and  overwhelm 
her. 

Monday.  —  A  fog.  The  sails  have  been 
furled,  and  every  preparation  made  to  insure 
immediate  action  of  the  helm,  should  any  ob 
ject  loom  up  suddenly  in  our  way.  A  misty 
rain  is  driving  down  the  wind,  and  the  hori 
zon  ahead  is  bounded  by  the  bowsprit.  Two 
lookouts  clothed  in  oil-skins  are  on  the  fore 
castle,  two  are  in  the  foretop,  and  two  are 


170     DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

on  the  bridge  with  the  captain  and  officer  of 
the  watch.  Their  eyes  and  ears  are  alert  to 
detect  the  mysteries  concealed  by  the  fog. 
Their  watchings  indicate  perils  to  the  ship  ; 
but  she  steams  ahead  as  if  she  knew  her 
course  to  be  clear  of  every  obstruction. 

There  is  no  comfort  for  passengers  to  be 
found  on  deck  ;  the  wet  wind  is  harsh  ;  every 
thing  fore  and  aft  drips  water.  There  is  no 
comfort  to  be  found  in  the  cabin,  where  the 
atmosphere  is  bad,  and  a  silence  ominous  of 
danger  prevails.  Many  passengers  remain 
in  their  berths.  They  hear  the  swash  of  the 
ocean  against  the  ship's  sides  ;  they  see  the 
tips  of  the  waves  dash  up  and  darken,  for  a 
moment,  the  little  port-lights  ;  they  listen  to 
the  sough  of  the  wind,  and  to  the  warning 
cry  of  the  steam-whistle ;  they  are  speech 
less  because  of  anxiety ;  they  are  thinking  of 
the  quiet  homes  they  have  left  behind.  That 
young  bride,  who  is  cushioned  up  in  a  corner 
of  the  gilded  but  gloomy  saloon,  probably 
wishes  that  she  had  never  been  married  ; 
for,  in  all  her  dreams  of  the  future,  there 
could  not  have  been  pictured  such  a  discon 
solate,  such  a  dismal  day  as  is  this  day  at  sea. 

A  few  of  the  passengers  answer  the  soft- 


DA  YS  ON  THE  NORTH  A  TLANTIC     i  7  r 

footed  steward's  call  to  lunch.  As  some  of 
them  reel  up  to  the  tables,  their  weary-look 
ing  faces  suggest  to  one  another  the  unneces 
sary  question,  "  How  do  you  feel  to-day  ? " 
and  perhaps  they  find  some  comfort  in  the 
fact  that  misery  is  a  mutual  friend.  Mean 
while  the  captain's  favorite  cat  walks  along 
the  sill  under  the  saloon  port -lights  ;  she 
pauses  to  receive  attentions  from  the  few 
passengers  who  are  at  the  table,  looks  at  her 
self  in  the  mirrors,  and  tries  to  catch  the  flies 
that  have  come  with  us  from  land.  A  girl 
says,  "  How  it  seems  like  home  to  see  a  cat 
here ! "  At  the  same  moment  a  scream  an 
nounces  that  a  woman  has  seen  rats  in  her 
stateroom  ;  and  an  old  seafarer  says  it  is  a 
good  omen  if  you  find  rats  aboard  during  a 
fog. 

All  day  the  fog  has  covered  the  ocean,  and 
our  steamer  has  been  going  through  it  at  full 
speed.  Suddenly  a  sailing  ship  looms  up 
right  ahead,  and  crossing  pur  course.  The 
bow  of  our  steamer  strikes  her  starboard 
quarter,  cutting  right  through  her  hull,  and 
immediately  each  vessel  disappears  from  the 
other  in  the  fog.  The  steamer  is  stopped 
and  all  hands  are  piped  to  the  boats,  while 


172     DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

carpenters  sound  the  wells  and  report  that 
there  is  no  water  in  them.  The  covers  of 
the  boats  are  cut  away  in  haste,  fall  tackles 
are  manned,  davits  are  swung  out,  and  each 
boat's  crew  takes  its  place  in  quiet  order. 
As  soon  as  the  boats  float  they  are  rowed 
away  to  find  the  ship.  When  they  have  re 
turned  with  the  wrecked  crew,  our  steamer 
plunges  ahead  again  into  the  fog  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

Tuesday.  —  The  wind  and  the  sea  have 
risen  together,  and  early  in  the  morning  it 
becomes  necessary  to  close  every  port-light 
and  to  shut  the  gangway  doors.  It  is  a  cold 
wind ;  the  look  of  the  sky  is  harsh.  There 
are  to  be  seen  those  peculiar  forms  of  clouds 
which,  as  an  old  saw  says,  "  make  high  ships 
carry  low  sails."  At  noon  the  wind  is  blow 
ing  fresh  from  the  northwest.  There  is  a  fly 
ing  scud  on  the  sea,  and  there  is  more  of  a 
breeze  than  nervous  passengers  desire.  The 
topsails  and  fore -course  are  drawing  full. 
The  ship  feels  their  impulse, 

"  And  swiftest  of  a  thousand  keels 
She  leaps  to  the  careering  seas  !  " 

Suddenly  the  wind  hauls  abeam,  and  the  top 
of  a  wave  jumps  aboard  amidships.  It 


DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC     173 

knocks  open  the  gangway  doors,  bounces 
into  the  cabin,  swashes  into  the  staterooms, 
and  terrifies  all  the  women  and  children. 
Now  the  lee  sheet  of  the  maintopsail  parts, 
and  the  wind,  lifting  the  great  sail,  thrashes 
it  into  ribbons.  The  watch  hurry  aloft,  send 
down  the  topsail  rags,  and  bend  on  a  new 
sail,  which  is  immediately  hoisted.  Then  the 
men  are  sent  up  to  furl  everything,  for  the 
wind  has  suddenly  hauled  to  the  east  of 
north,  and  only  fore-and-aft  sails  can  draw. 
All  this  is  what  seamen  call  fine  weather. 

Wednesday.  —  I  went  on  deck  at  the 
break  of  day ;  the  winds  were  still ;  the 
ocean  appeared  to  be  in  truth  a  "  gray  and 
melancholy  waste."  Far  off  was  a  ship  com 
ing  out  of  the  east ;  her  sails  and  spars  were 
clearly  outlined  on  the  dawn.  As  we  ap 
proached  her  she  sheered  up  towards  us  and 
asked  for  our  latitude  and  longitude.  Then 
she  resumed  her  course,  and  in  a  short  time 
she  was  hull  down  in  the  west.  As  day  ad 
vances,  the  ocean  sparkles  with  life  and 
brightness  ;  a  pleasant  breeze  runs  over  it ; 
here  and  there  white-caps  are  visible  on  the 
dancing  waters.  Those  passengers  who  have 
been  seasick  are  beginning  to  enjoy  the  voy- 


174     DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

age,  and  the  most  timid  of  them  is  admiring 
the  scenery  to-day.  To  the  dullest  eye  the 
ship  appears  to  be  a  thing  of  beauty.  Indeed 
she  is  profane ;  for  she  says,  "  The  sea  is 
mine!"  —  as  with  a  gently  rolling  gait  she 
passes  triumphantly  over  it,  and  goes  un 
checked  on  her  course  to  England.  In  the 
afternoon  we  passed  a  large  vessel,  bottom 
up ;  and  not  long  after,  we  passed  an  aban 
doned  water-logged  vessel  with  the  stumps  of 
three  masts  standing. 

All  day,  under  control  of  a  boatswain,  the 
watch  on  deck  are  scrubbing  and  polishing 
and  painting,  until  no  house  is  as  clean  as 
the  ship.  They  scrape  spars,  patch  canvas, 
rub  brasses,  put  up  chafing-gear,  uncover 
and  re-cover  the  boats.  With  all  this  ap 
pearance  of  business,  there  is  in  reality  no 
important  work  for  the  watch  to  do.  Very 
different  is  it  with  seamen  aboard  a  sailing- 
ship.  There,  steady  and  hard  work  makes 
the  voyage.  To  command  a  ship  under  sail 
is  a  pleasure  which  calls  into  use  every  men 
tal  faculty.  But  the  steamship  is  merely  a 
machine,  whose  moving  power  is  independent 
of  the  supervising  command.  The  engine 
pushes  the  hull  through  the  sea,  acting  with 


DAYS   ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC     175 

the  precision  of  a  chronometer.  Sails  are  set 
on  occasion.  The  captain  is  the  gentleman 
of  the  voyage.  He  has  a  five-o'clock  tea  in 
his  cabin.  His  steamship  is  navigated  prin 
cipally  from  the  owner's  office,  whence  in 
structions  are  issued  to  him  as  to  the  course 
he  is  to  steer,  the  action  he  is  to  take  in  cer 
tain  emergencies,  and  the  day  on  which  he  is 
to  arrive  at  his  destination.  The  officer  of 
the  deck  looks  at  the  compass  now  and  then, 
to  assure  himself  that  the  quartermaster  is 
steering  according  to  orders ;  he  lifts  his 
glasses  to  scan  the  horizon  ;  and,  except 
when  in  a  fog  or  a  storm,  there  is  little  else 
for  him  to  do  but  to  work  out  the  latitude 
and  longitude. 

Thursday.  —  The  ocean  is  in  angry  mood 
this  morning.  We  are  pursued  by  a  gale 
from  the  northwest.  As  day  advances,  both 
wind  and  sea  are  traveling  faster  than  the 
steamer.  At  noon  a  tremendous  wave  bursts 
under  the  stern  ;  its  fragments  fall  like  an 
avalanche  on  the  after  deck,  causing  the 
steamer  to  tremble  fore  and  aft.  As  she 
lifts  herself  up  from  this  attack,  it  is  seen 
that  bulwarks  are  broken,  a  boat  has  been 
swept  away,  great  iron  ventilators  have  been 


176     DAYS  ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

wrenched  off,  and  cataracts  of  water  have 
been  poured  into  the  saloon,  setting  afloat 
everything  therein  that  was  movable.  The 
passengers  dare  not  venture  out  of  their 
berths.  Women  are  dazed  with  terror  ;  as 
the  gale  increases  in  violence,  some  of  them 
believe  that  they  will  never  see  the  land 
again. 

Friday.  —  This  morning  the  barometer  has 
fallen  to  28°  36' ;  the  wind  is  blowing  from 
every  quarter  of  the  compass  in  succession, 
and  it  is  veering  about  continually.  We  are 
very  near  the  centre  of  a  cyclonic  hurricane. 
All  passengers  are  excluded  from  the  decks  ; 
they  are  battened  down  below  as  if  they 
were  cargo.  The  captain  consults  with  his 
first  officer  and  with  his  engineer ;  then  he 
determines  to  abandon  his  eastward  course 
and  head  the  steamer  off  for  the  south,  in 
order  to  get  out  of  the  whirl  of  the  cyclone. 
The  struggle  between  the  ship  and  the  ocean 
now  presents  a  magnificent  spectacle.  Her 
deck  is  at  times  buried  beneath  green  seas 
which  tumble  aboard  in  immense  masses, 
and  roar  in  angry  cascades  from  one  side  to 
the  other.  She  shivers  through  and  through, 
as  her  continuous  efforts  are  made  against 


DAYS  ON  THE   NORTH  ATLANTIC     177 

the  tempest.  Anxiety  is  felt  by  the  watch 
ful  officers  on  the  bridge  and  in  the  engine- 
room  ;  something  more  than  anxiety  is  felt 
in  the  cabin,  where,  during  the  turmoil,  a 
child  is  born.  By  night-fall  the  steamer  has 
got  clear  of  the  tempest,  and  is  standing  up 
to  her  course,  in  a  cold,  tumultuous  sea. 

Saturday.  —  This  is  a  sunny  day ;  but 
there  is  a  wild  and  a  very  confused  ocean. 
Land  of  Goshen  !  how  the  good  ship  rolls  ! 
There  is  a  savageness  in  her  actions  which 
gives  me  a  new  idea  of  her  character.  Down 
teeters  the  port  rail  into  the  seething  foam, 
and  when  it  rises  down  goes  the  starboard 
rail,  dipping  up  green  seas  on  either  side 
alternately,  while  her  quarters  are  shivering 
like  a  chilled  hound.  Sheets  of  spray  fly  up 
her  sides  and  fall  with  the  noise  of  pebbles 
on  the  deck.  Passengers  creep  with  sudden 
advances  and  sudden  backslidings  into  the 
cabin,  and  brace  themselves  into  secure  seats. 
They  are  consoling  themselves  with  the 
thought  that  the  land  is  near,  and  that  we 
shall  soon  be  in  more  quiet  waters. 

Sunday.  —  The  highlands  of  Kerry  are  in 
sight  There  is  the  famous  Dunquin,  whose 
people  boast  that  it  is  the  next  parish  to  the 


178     DAYS   ON  THE  NORTH  ATLANTIC 

United  States.  Halfway  down  its  immense 
precipice  of  Sibyl  Head,  which  descends 
fathoms  deep  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  may 
be  seen  a  rocky  projection,  resembling  a  co 
lossal  Irishman  with  arm  outstretched  to  the 
west,  which  is  "  Saint  Patrick  sending  his 
blessing  to  Amerikay."  Now  we  are  shaping 
our  course  for  Cape  Clear.  At  noon  we  sight 
Browhead  and  the  tall  light-tower  on  Fast- 
net  Rock.  A  heavy  swell  comes  up  from  the 
southwest,  and  the  steamer  is  taking  on  many 
disagreeable  motions  ;  but  seasickness  has 
disappeared.  During  the  afternoon  we  run 
into  smooth  water  under  the  lee  of  the  Irish 
coast.  Now  everybody  looks  with  wistful 
eyes  at  the  green  bluffs,  and  seems  to  have 
forgotten  all  the  discomforts  and  perils  of 
the  voyage.  When  the  steamer  stops,  about 
seventeen  miles  east  of  the  Old  Head  of 
Kinsale,  there  are  not  many  of  her  passen 
gers  who  dare  to  say  that  they  will  never 
make  another  voyage  across  the  North  At 
lantic  Ocean. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS 


THE  wandering  albatross  lives  in  the  air, 
and  sleeps  and  bathes  in  the  austral  seas 
which  stretch  away  below  the  thirtieth  par 
allel  of  south  latitude.  It  has  been  called 
the  fateful  bird  of  nautical  romance.  The 
Ancient  Mariner,  who  with  his  cross-bow 
shot  the  albatross  that  followed  his  ship, 
confessed  he  "  had  done  a  hellish  thing," 
which  was  to  bring  misfortune  to  him  and 
his  crew  :  — 

"  For  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow, 
Ah  !  wretch  !  said  they,  the  bird  to  slay, 
That  made  the  breeze  to  blow." 

It  is  the  greatest  of  ocean  birds,  measuring 
about  four  feet  from  its  beak  to  the  end  of 
its  short  tail,  and  having  a  spread  of  wings 
extending  ten  or  eleven  feet.  Its  beak  is 
crooked  and  massive,  and  its  webbed  feet  are 


1 82     THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE   ALBATROSS 

armed  with  stout  nails.  Its  body  resembles 
somewhat  that  of  a  goose  ;  for  which  reason 
English  sailors  call  it  the  Cape  goose.  Gen 
erally  the  color  of  the  albatross  is  brown  on 
its  back,  with  a  white  breast  and  underfeath- 
ers ;  the  brown  changes  to  white,  as  age  in 
creases,  and  then  no  whiteness  can  excel  the 
purity  of  its  plumage.  Whiter  than  a  lily, 
whiter  than  snow,  it  has  a  pearly  brilliancy 
which  may  be  supposed  to  have  come  from 
the  pure  air  and  water  in  which  it  dwells. 
On  account  of  its  whiteness,  French  sailors 
call  it  le  mouton  du  Cap,  the  Cape  sheep. 
Only  during  the  brief  time  of  breeding  do 
albatrosses  go  to  land  ;  at  other  times  the 
Southern  Ocean  and  the  heavens  above  it 
are  their  home. 

The  movements  of  the  albatross  afford  an 
interesting  study  to  a  voyager ;  and  the 
question  as  to  the  mechanical  principles  by 
which  these  majestic  birds  move  through  the 
air  serves  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  many  a 
weary  day  at  sea.  In  a  calm  their  move 
ments  are  clumsy  ;  they  appear  to  stumble, 
and  to  be  unable  to  fly  like  other  birds.  But 
when  a  breeze  comes,  they  set  their  enor 
mous  wings  in  a  position  to  take  it,  and  they 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS    183 

are  then  impelled  through  the  air  as  quietly 
as  a  ship  is  impelled  by  a  trade  wind.  They 
rarely  ply  their  wings  except  when  rising 
from  the  waves.  Once  up,  away  they  go, 
—  the  wings,  like  studding-sails,  outspread, 
with  the  wind,  or  against  it  ;  veering  in  this 
direction  and  in  that  by  a  turning  of  their 
beaks  ;  hovering  and  circling  around  the 
ship,  and  gliding  over  the  ocean  with  a  great 
variety  of  motions,  as  a  skater  glides  over 
the  ice ;  or,  at  other  times,  driving  a  direct 
course  into  the  eye  of  a  gale.  They  may 
breakfast  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and 
dine  at  Cape  Horn.  Only  now  and  then,  in 
a  journey  of  hours  on  hours,  and  miles  on 
miles,  do  they  vibrate  their  wings  ;  and  to 
an  observer  on  the  deck  of  a  ship,  all  their 
motions  appear  to  be  the  poetry  of  sailing. 

But  whether  the  albatross  sails  like  a  ship, 
or  flies  like  a  bird,  is  a  question  disputed  by 
naturalists.  It  is  admitted  that  the  albatross 
appears  to  keep  the  tenor  of  its  way  through 
the  air,  "  with  giant  vans  outstretched  and 
motionless."  Mr.  Darwin  was  unable  to 
detect  even  a  tremor  of  the  quills.  In  his 
journal  of  a  voyage  around  the  world  in  the 
Beagle,  when  near  Cape  Horn,  he  says : 


184     THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE   ALBATROSS 

"  The  storm  raged  with  its  full  fury ;  our 
horizon  was  narrowly  limited  by  the  sheets 
of  spray  borne  by  the  wind.  The  sea  looked 
ominous,  like  a  dreary  waving  plain  with 
patches  of  drifting  snow ;  whilst  the  ship 
labored  heavily,  the  albatross  glided  with  its 
expanded  wings  right  up  the  wind."  De  La- 
fresnaye,  in  the  "  Dictionnaire  Universel 
d'Histoire  Naturelle,"  says  :  "  At  times  one 
sees  the  albatrosses  flying  in  the  storm, 
against  the  most  violent  wind,  without  any 
effort,  and  without  any  appearance  of  their 
flight  being  slackened.  In  all  these  circum 
stances,  it  would  seem  as  if  they  only  hover, 
and  one  does  not  perceive  the  least  flapping 
of  their  wings."  l  And  Mr.  Moseley,  of  the 
Challenger  exploring  ship,  says,  in  his  "  Notes 
of  a  Naturalist,"  that  the  flight  of  the  alba 
tross  "  may  be  compared  to  that  of  a  skillful 
skater  on  the  outside  edge.  It  ekes  out  to 
the  utmost  the  momentum  derived  from  a 
few  powerful  strokes,  and  uses  it  up  slowly, 

1  "  On  les  voit  tantot  voler,  dans  les  tempetes,  centre  le 
vent  le  plus  violent,  sans  effort  et  sans  que  leur  vol  en 
paraisse  ralenti.  Dans  toutes  ces  circonstances,  ils  sem- 
blent  ne  faire  que  planer,  et  Ton  ne  s'aper9oit  pas  qu'ils 
impriment  le  moindre  battement  a  leurs  ailes." 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS    185 

making  all  possible  use  at  the  same  time  of 
the  force  of  the  wind." 

The  flight  of  the  albatross  has  always  ex 
cited  wonder  and  admiration.  The  theory 
that  it  sails  like  a  ship  rather  than  flies  like 
a  bird  is  supported  by  the  constant  altera 
tion  of  the  angle  of  its  wings  with  the  surface 
of  the  sea,  as  it  glides  along ;  this  change  is 
made  to  catch  the  advantage  of  every  current 
of  air,  and  when  the  bird  feels  the  breeze  it 
instinctively  assumes  that  angle  which  will 
give  to  it  the  most  propulsion.  By  these 
means  it  keeps  company  with  a  ship,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  it  ranges  far  and  wide  over 
the  ocean.  On  the  contrary  theory,  the 
Duke  of  Argyll  says  that  the  albatross  is 
merely  an  example  of  extreme  perfection  and 
special  adaptation ;  that  it  is  the  potential 
energy  of  the  bird's  weight  which  enables  it 
to  fly,  when  once  it  has  been  lifted  ;  and  the 
fact  of  its  flying  into  the  eye  of  the  wind 
does  not  prove  that  it  sails  like  a  ship,  be 
cause  a  ship  cannot  sail  directly  into  the 
wind  ;  therefore  the  sailing  of  the  bird  must 
be  absolutely  different  from  that  of  a  ship ; 
and  to  assign  to  it  a  special  power  of  sailing 
"is  a  pure  delusion." 


i86     THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS 

Let  us  allow  the  naturalists  to  settle  that 
question. 

As  darkness  comes  over  the  sea,  our  ship 
leaves  behind  the  albatrosses  that  have  ac 
companied  her  during  the  day.  They  are 
now  feeding  upon  broken  food  which  the  cook 
has  thrown  overboard.  After  this  supper, 
they  will  compose  themselves  to  sleep  on  the 
billows.  The  ship  sails  a  hundred  miles  or 
more,  and  at  the  next  sunrising  the  same 
albatrosses  are  discovered  around  her;  known 
to  be  the  same  by  some  peculiarities  of  their 
plumage.  How  swift  and  brief  and  tireless 
must  have  been  their  pursuit  of  the  ship, 
after  they  awoke  from  sleep  ! 

Mr.  Dana,  in  his  "  Two  Years  before  the 
Mast,"  says  :  "  At  eight  o'clock  we  altered 
our  course  to  the  northward,  bound  for  Juan 
Fernandez.  This  day  we  saw  the  last  of  the 
albatrosses,  which  had  been  our  companions 
a  great  part  of  the  time  off  the  Cape.  I  had 
been  interested  in  the  bird  from  descriptions, 
and  Coleridge's  poem,  and  was  not  at  all  dis 
appointed.  We  caught  one  or  two  with  a 
baited  hook  which  we  floated  astern  upon  a 
shingle.  Their  long,  flapping  wings,  long  legs 


THE   FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS    187 

and  large  staring  eyes  give  them  a  peculiar 
appearance.  They  look  well  on  the  wing  ; 
but  one  of  the  finest  sights  that  I  have  ever 
seen  was  an  albatross  asleep  upon  the  water, 
during  a  calm,  off  Cape  Horn,  when  a  heavy 
sea  was  running.  There  being  no  breeze, 
the  surface  of  the  water  was  unbroken,  but  a 
long,  heavy  swell  was  rolling,  and  we  saw 
the  fellow,  all  white,  directly  ahead  of  us, 
asleep  upon  the  waves  with  his  head  under 
his  wing,  now  rising  on  the  top  of  one  of  the 
big  billows  and  then  falling  slowly  until  he 
was  lost  in  the  hollow  between.  He  was 
undisturbed  for  some  time,  until  the  noise 
of  our  bows,  gradually  approaching,  roused 
him,  when,  lifting  his  head,  he  stared  upon 
us  for  a  moment  and  then  spread  his  wide 
wings  and  took  his  flight." 

It  has  been  said  that  the  albatross  is  an 
inoffensive  creature,  that  it  never  attacks  a 
man.  In  the  "  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Man 
ner  "  it  is  called  a  harmless  bird  :  — 

" '  Is  it  he  ? '  quoth  one  ;  '  Is  this  the  man  ? '  — 

By  him  who  died  on  cross, 
With  his  cruel  bow,  he  laid  full  low 
The  harmless  albatross !  " 

This  description  of  the  nature  of  the  bird  is 


l88     THE   FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS 

incorrect,  as  the  following  incident  shows. 
The  ship  Oracle,  sixty  days  out  from  New 
York,  bound  to  the  Pacific  Ocean,  was  in  the 
latitude  of  the  Falkland  Islands  ;  when,  early 
in  the  morning,  all  hands  were  called  to 
shorten  sail.  Two  boys  were  sent  to  the 
mainroyal  yard  with  orders  to  furl  the  royal, 
then  lay  below  to  the  topgallant  yard,  and 
stow  away  the  sail.  Having  furled  the  royal 
they  came  down,  took  their  places  on  the  lee 
and  weather  yard-arms,  and  began  their  work. 
The  sea  was  heavy,  the  ship  was  going  fast 
with  the  wind  to  the  south,  and  the  yard  had 
been  braced  up  to  help  the  boys  in  handling 
the  sail ;  when,  by  the  carelessness  of  the 
man  at  the  wheel,  the  ship  luffed  and  shiv 
ered,  the  sail  flew  up,  and  a  boy  was  knocked 
from  the  lee  yard-arm  into  the  ocean.  The 
other  boy  cried  the  alarm,  "  A  man  over 
board  !  "  and  from  his  lofty  perch  he  saw  his 
chum  swimming  in  the  wake  of  the  ship, 
which  was  running,  like  the  ship  of  the  An 
cient  Mariner, 

"  With  sloping  masts  and  dipping  prow." 

As   quick  as   possible,  she   was   put   about 
and   headed    for    the   swimmer,   who    was 


THE   FLIGHT  OF  THE  ALBATROSS     189 

courageously  holding  his  own,  while  his  ship 
mates  stood  at  the  bow  and  amidships,  with 
lines  and  buoys  ready  to  cast.  Suddenly,  an 
albatross,  which  had  been  hovering  about  the 
ship,  sailed  down  and  struck  the  boy's  head 
with  its  talons.  He  sank  from  sight  and  was 
seen  no  more. 


THE   LAST   MAN   ON   A  WRECK 


THE   LAST   MAN   ON   A  WRECK 


OUR  ship  was  steaming  in  pursuit  of  her 
great  circle  course  across  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
The  weather  was  wild  and  chilly;  the  sea 
was  barren  and  uninteresting  to  the  eye  ; 
and  we  sailed  day  after  day  without  meeting 
any  ship,  or  finding  any  variety  in  the  voy 
age,  save  a  fog  bank,  or  a  spell  of  sunshine, 
or  a  piece  of  drift-wood,  or  a  fleet  of  tiny 
white  nautiluses.  At  evening  twilight  the 
ocean  seemed  to  me  unusually  desolate. 
The  melancholy  noise  of  its  waters,  the  in 
distinctness  of  objects  about  the  ship,  and 
some  unknown  and  oppressive  influence, 
which  checked  conversation,  compelled  me 
to  turn  in  and  seek  relief  from  the  lonesome- 
ness  in  sleep. 

The  next  morning  I  heard  the  cry,  "  Sail 
ho ! "  called  from  the  forecastle.  On  the 
horizon,  in  the  sunlight,  there  was  an  object 


IQ4         THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK 

which  looked  like  a  wreck.  When  our  ship 
drew  near,  it  proved  to  be  the  remains  of  a 
brig.  Her  foremast  was  standing,  her  fore- 
topsail  and  jib  were  partly  set,  the  foresail 
was  hanging  in  the  clewlines,  the  mainmast 
had  been  cut  away,  and  the  bulwarks  were 
gone.  Slimy  green  grass  was  growing  on 
her  sides.  Her  deck,  all  awash,  was  bent 
up  in  an  arch  by  the  swelling  of  wet  lumber 
in  the  hold.  Over  the  forecastle  was  spread 
a  loose  sail,  which  flapped  up  and  down,  and 
was  wetted  by  the  sea.  On  the  foretop  was 
a  shelter  made  by  a  strip  of  canvas  passing 
around  it  and  lashed  to  the  rigging.  Evi 
dently  these  places  had  been  occupied  by 
shipwrecked  people  ;  but  there  was  no  living 
thing  to  be  seen,  nor  did  there  appear  to  be 
a  spot  on  the  wreck  where  any  life  could 
exist. 

Immediately  we  sent  off  a  boat  to  examine 
the  wreck.  On  reaching  it,  two  of  the  boat's 
crew  ran  aloft  into  the  foretop.  There  was 
nothing  in  it.  The  officer  in  charge  of  the 
boat,  who  was  standing  up  as  it  lay  alongside 
the  wreck,  shouted  to  his  men  in  the  top  to 
search  in  the  canvas  for  a  paper,  a  log-book, 
or  something  that  would  tell  the  story  of  the 


THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK        195 

wreck.  He  had  hardly  finished  these  orders 
when  the  emaciated  figure  of  a  half-clad, 
wretched-looking  man  rose  up  from  under 
the  sail  on  the  forecastle  right  in  front  of 
him.  The  man's  eyes  were  glassy  and  life 
less  ;  he  held  one  hand  over  his  heart  as  if 
to  suppress  excitement,  and,  lifting  up  the 
other,  he  muttered  a  voiceless  prayer,  and 
fell  back  into  the  heap  of  wet  canvas.  The 
two  seamen  hurried  down  from  aloft,  and, 
lifting  up  the  man,  said  :  — 

"  Where  are  the  rest  of  you  ?  " 

"All  gone  !     All  gone  !  "  he  replied. 

He  could  only  mutter  the  words  in  faint 
tones.  Then  he  said,  "  Water  !  water !  "  and 
became  insensible. 

They  tore  away  the  sail  from  the  fore 
castle,  which  was  the  only  part  of  the  vessel 
that  was  above  the  sea-level,  and  searched 
for  his  shipmates.  Nobody  there  !  it  was 
true  ;  they  were  "  all  gone  !  " 

There  was  too  much  swell  on  the  sea  to 
allow  the  men  to  lift  the  insensible  survivor 
gently  into  the  boat ;  so  they  took  him  up, 
and,  standing  on  the  half-submerged  bow  of 
the  wreck,  they  waited  an  opportunity,  as  it 
rose  and  fell,  to  drop  him  into  the  arms  of 


196         THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK 

two  men  who  stood  in  the  boat  to  catch  him. 
And  so  they  received  this  living  skeleton, 
and  brought  him  aboard  the  steamer. 

He  was  put  to  bed,  and  nourished  with 
brandy  and  water.  His  legs  were  numb  ;  he 
had  lost  the  senses  of  taste  and  smell ;  his 
sense  of  sight  was  feeble  ;  he  weighed  not 
more  than  one  hundred  pounds. 

Two  days  later  he  showed  signs  of  recov 
ery.  He  could  speak.  The  next  day  he  be 
gan  to  tell  his  story  of  the  wreck,  the  sub 
stance  of  which  I  embody  in  this  narrative. 
He  was  master  of  the  brig,  which  four 
months  gone  had  sailed  from  San  Francisco 
for  Callao,  having  a  company  of  ten  seamen 
and  two  passengers.  Two  weeks  after  leav 
ing  port,  the  brig  encountered  a  hurricane 
and  became  waterlogged.  Then  she  drifted 
for  one  hundred  and  ten  days  at  the  mercy 
of  the  winds,  and  no  help  reached  her  in  all 
that  time.  During  the  hurricane  all  the 
provisions  were  flooded  ;  the  sea  got  into  the 
fresh-water  casks,  and,  with  the  exception  of 
a  box  of  starch,  some  salted  tongues,  and 
salmon  washed  up  from  below,  the  men  on 
the  wreck  had  nothing  to  eat,  nor  had  they 
anything  to  drink.  Four  of  them  died  from 


THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A  WRECK   197 

exposure.  The  eight  who  remained  retreated 
to  the  foretop,  around  which  they  arranged 
the  canvas  shelter.  The  foretop  was  a  semi 
circular  platform  at  the  head  of  the  fore 
mast,  about  twenty-five  feet  above  the  deck, 
and  about  the  size  of  half  the  circular  top  of 
a  small  table.  They  went  down  daily  to 
catch  fish  for  sustenance  ;  their  hooks  were 
made  of  wire  taken  from  the  edge  of  a  tin 
pan  ;  their  lines  were  strands  of  rigging  ; 
their  bait  was  rags.  With  these  equipments 
they  caught  skipjacks  and  albacores,  and 
enough  of  them  to  lay  away  some  to  be 
dried.  They  chewed  the  raw  fish,  for  they 
had  no  fire  to  cook  them.  By  and  by  their 
throats  became  so  parched  and  sore  that 
they  could  not  swallow  what  they  chewed. 
Every  night  they  climbed  up  into  the  fore- 
top  to  sleep.  As  they  could  not  He  down  in 
this  small  area,  they  slept  leaning  against 
the  mast  and  against  each  other  as  best  they 
could.  When  it  rained,  they  caught  water 
in  a  pan  to  drink.  As  there  was  but  little  of 
it  for  so  many,  they  took  the  sheep-skins 
that  had  been  used  on  the  rigging  for  chaf 
ing-gear,  and,  allotting  a  piece  to  each  man, 
they  spread  the  pieces  on  the  edge  of  the 


198         THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK 

foretop  to  absorb  dews  that  fell  in  the  night. 
In  the  morning  each  man  sucked  dry  his 
piece  of  wool  to  alleviate  his  thirst,  and  so 
they  existed  for  sixty-five  days.  Then,  hav 
ing  gone  down  from  the  foretop  as  usual  to 
catch  fish  on  the  sixty-sixth  day,  they  found 
themselves  to  be  too  weak  to  climb  the  rig 
ging  any  more.  That  night  they  spread  a 
sail  on  the  forecastle,  and  lay  down  under  it 
in  the  wet,  hoping  for  the  day  to  come  speed 
ily  when  they  should  be  rescued. 

There  were  two  Italians  in  the  crew,  who 
now  demanded  that  lots  should  be  drawn  for 
the  death  of  one  of  the  eight  to  furnish  food 
for  the  others.  The  captain  would  not  con 
sent  to  this.  He  said  that  each  man  must 
take  his  chance  for  life,  and  all  be  saved  or 
all  be  lost  together.  The  others  agreed  with 
him  indifferently.  But  the  Italians  were  so 
intent  on  their  plan  that  the  captain,  with 
the  two  passengers,  agreed  to  watch  them, 
and  if  they  attempted  murder  to  kill  them 
at  once.  The  captain  had  a  loaded  pistol 
in  his  pocket.  Now  hunger,  thirst,  and 
weakness  increased  every  day.  Still  the 
captain  encouraged  his  miserable  fellows 
with  the  hope  of  a  rescue.  He  said  he  had 


THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A  WRECK    199 

dreamed  about  it.  This  hope  was  so  much 
in  his  day-thoughts  that  he  often  fancied  he 
heard  the  welcome  cry,  "  Brig  ahoy  ! "  and, 
hearing  it,  as  he  supposed,  he  got  up  and 
peered  out  of  the  sail  that  covered  them. 
But  he  never  saw  anything  save  the  expanse 
of  ocean  and  the  expanse  of  sky.  His  com 
rades  also  scanned  the  horizon  daily  in  search 
of  a  ship  coming  to  their  rescue.  At  differ 
ent  times  they  thought  they  saw  three  ships 
sailing  on  courses  far  away  from  them. 

They  had  existed  in  this  condition  about 
ninety-five  days,  when,  one  morning,  a  bark 
under  full  sail  came  near  the  wreck,  and  was 
hove  to  abreast  of  it.  There  she  was,  in 
plain  sight  and  motionless  ;  her  topsails  were 
aback,  her  forestay sails  a-weather,  her  helm 
a-lee.  The  poor  men  got  up  eagerly,  and 
waved  what  they  had  that  would  attract 
attention.  The  Italians  waded  through  the 
water  on  deck,  got  upon  the  stump  of  the 
mainmast,  and  waved  their  hats.  All  hands 
tried  to  shout  together ;  their  voices  were 
feeble  and  husky  ;  they  could  not  make  much 
of  an  outcry. 

The  stranger  bark  was  so  near  that  the 
shipwrecked  men  could  have  thrown  a  stone 


200         THE   LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK 

aboard  of  her  had  they  had  their  usual 
strength.  They  saw  that  her  hull  was  painted 
black,  with  a  gilt  band  running  around  it. 
They  saw  the  letters  of  her  name  on  the 
stern  and  trail-boards,  but  their  eyes  were 
too  dizzy  to  read  them.  They  saw  that  she 
had  a  new  spanker  set  ;  they  noticed  it  was 
new  because  it  had  not  been  stained  by  the 
weather.  They  saw  three  men  go  aft,  and 
speak  with  a  man  standing  on  the  quarter 
deck,  who  wore  a  cap,  and  appeared  to  be 
the  master  ;  then  they  saw  this  man  look  at 
the  wreck,  and  turn  and  talk  with  a  woman 
who  sat  near  him  in  a  willow  armchair,  and 
who  was  wearing  a  black  and  red  plaid  shawl. 
The  shipwrecked  men  saw  all  these  things, 
as  they  thought,  and  waited  to  be  taken  off. 
But,  to  their  great  astonishment,  the  bark 
filled  her  topsails  and  sailed  away. 

Was  this  a  phantasm  ?  Its  effect  on  the 
shipwrecked  men  was  that  of  a  reality. 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  day  the  two  Ital 
ians  became  delirious  and  jumped  overboard, 
and  despair  began  to  extinguish  what  life 
there  was  in  the  other  sufferers.  The  next 
day  three  of  them  died,  and  the  captain  rolled 
their  bodies  into  the  ocean.  Then  the  young- 


THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK        201 

est  of  the  passengers  died.  He  was  not 
much  more  than  a  boy  ;  but  he  had  been 
resolute,  and  had  tried  hard  to  live.  He  said 
he  had  left  a  good  mother  at  home,  that  he 
loved  her,  and  wanted  to  see  her  once  more. 
The  events  on  the  wreck  were  written 
with  a  pencil,  as  they  occurred,  on  the  mar 
gins  of  a  nautical  almanac,  by  the  captain  or 
by  the  elder  passenger.  These  two,  being 
now  the  only  survivors  of  the  twelve  who 
had  sailed  in  the  brig,  laid  themselves  down 
under  the  sail  on  the  forecastle  to  wait  for 
death  or  for  salvation.  On  the  one  hundred 
and  seventh  day,  according  to  the  notes  on 
the  margin  of  the  almanac,  it  blew  a  gale. 
Green  seas  broke  over  the  forecastle,  drench 
ing  the  two  men  under  the  canvas.  It  is  a 
wonder  that  they  were  not  washed  off.  At 
night  it  rained.  The  passenger  crept  out  of 
the  sail,  caught  a  cupful  of  water,  and  drank 
the  whole  of  it.  In  the  morning  he  was 
missing.  The  captain  then  resolved  that  if 
help  did  not  come  with  the  next  day,  he 
would  drink  a  mixture  of  bluestone  and  ink, 
which  he  had  prepared,  and  so  end  his  tor 
menting  misery  by  poison.  On  that  day  our 
ship  found  and  saved  this  last  survivor  of 
the  wreck, 


202         THE  LAST  MAN  ON  A   WRECK 

When  he  was  landed,  and  as  soon  as  his 
story  became  known,  inquiries  were  made  in 
every  direction  to  learn  the  name  of  that 
bark  which  came  alongside  the  wreck  and 
then  sailed  away  and  abandoned  it.  No  ves 
sel  answering  to  the  description  given  was 
known  to  be  afloat  on  the  North  Pacific 
Ocean  at  that  time.  It  was  therefore  con 
cluded  that  she  was  a  creature  of  the  diseased 
imaginations  of  the  shipwrecked  men. 

The  remarkable  fact  that  the  same  vision 
appeared  at  the  same  time  to  all  these  men 
may  be  easily  explained.  One  of  them  fan 
cied  that  he,  at  last,  saw  the  rescuing  ship 
which  all  had  been  looking  for ;  he  told  the 
news  to  his  companions  ;  he  pointed  to  the 
coming  vessel,  and  described  her  as  she  ap 
proached  the  wreck.  Their  minds  had  sunk 
to  that  semi-conscious  state  in  which  fancy 
and  reality  are  quickly  confused,  and  there 
fore  they  believed  his  words  and  imagined 
that  they  also  saw  what  he  described.  Their 
strong  desire  for  salvation  had  brought  be 
fore  their  weary  eyes  the  apparition  of  that 
for  which  they  were  earnestly  longing. 


SEVEN  DAYS   IN   A  JINRIKISHA 


SEVEN   DAYS   IN   A  JINRIKISHA 


THE  commander  of  the  Japanese  steamer 
in  which  I  took  passage  was  an  American, 
who,  the  day  before,  had  married  a  sea-going 
widow  of  Shanghai.  This  was  to  be  the 
honeymoon  voyage,  for  which  the  day  opened 
with  a  cold  rain  and  a  northeast  gale.  I  was 
carried  from  my  hotel,  in  the  widow's  city, 
to  the  steamer  by  a  jinrikiska,  —  a  minia 
ture  gig,  or  it  may  be  called  a  great  baby- 
carriage,  having  steel  springs,  two  large, 
slender  wheels,  and  a  movable  paper  hood ; 
the  whole  being  so  evenly  poised  when  the 
passenger  is  seated  that  the  man  who  runs 
between  the  shafts  has  no  weight  to  support. 
At  the  wharf  a  crowd  of  people  were  waiting 
to  give  the  newly  married  twain  a  noisy 
send-off,,  and  as  the  ship  swung  out  into  the 
Woosung  River  she  was  saluted  by  the  run 
ning  explosions  of  fire-crackers,  whirligigs, 


206       SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

and  fuses  hanging  from  bamboo  poles.  In 
the  smoke  and  din  of  this  honeymoon  re 
joicing  I  said  good-bye  to  China. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  at  sea 
Japan  was  in  sight ;  the  gale  had  blown  out ; 
the  sun  was  shining,  and  our  ship  was  thread 
ing  her  way  through  quiet  waters,  between 
green  islands,  and  under  cliffs  covered  with 
verdure.  After  calling  at  Nagasaki  she 
steamed  up  the  coast,  and  at  daylight  of 
next  morning  anchored  in  the  Straits  of  Shi- 
monisaki.  A  cargo  of  rice  in  straw  pack 
ages  was  brought  to  the  ship  in  scows,  and, 
having  taken  it  aboard,  she  passed  through 
the  Inland  Sea,  and  anchored  on  the  next 
morning  before  the  city  of  Hiogo.  Thence 
she  pursued  her  voyage  to  Yokohama  with 
out  me ;  for  I  was  to  make  the  journey  to 
that  city  in  jinrikishas  over  the  highway 
called  the  Tokaido. 

The  Tokaido  is  a  broad  macadamized  road, 
extending  along  the  southern  shore  of  the 
island  of  Niphon  from  Shimonisaki  to  the 
city  of  Tokio.  It  was  probably  built  centu 
ries  ago,  is  shaded  by  large  and  ancient 
cedar  trees,  skirts  the  seashore,  traverses 
mountains,  crosses  rivers  on  stone  bridges, 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA       207 

and  passes  through  many  populous  towns 
and  small  villages,  which  afford  such  accom 
modations  to  travelers  as  Japanese  customs 
demand.  As  no  foreigner  was  allowed  to 
make  this  overland  journey  except  by  per 
mission  of  the  government,  I  obtained,  from 
the  Japanese  foreign  office,  passports  to 
travel  under  these  conditions  :  to  obey  all 
the  police  regulations  of  the  country,  not  to 
engage  in  trade,  not  to  commit  matrimony 
nor  any  disturbance,  nor  to  be  longer  on  the 
way  than  forty  days,  and  to  return  my  pass 
ports  on  reaching  Yokohama. 

Some  of  the  preparations  for  this  journey 
of  350  miles,  which  would  occupy  seven 
days,  were  made  at  Hiogo,  although  the 
start  was  to  be  taken  at  Kiyoto,  a  large  city 
fifty  miles  east  of  it,  and  connected  with  it 
by  a  railroad  which  ended  there.  As  my 
party,  which  numbered  three  travelers,  was 
not  likely  to  find  in  the  hostelries  on  the 
road  such  food  as  would  be  palatable  accord 
ing  to  our  Anglo-Saxon  education,  I  bought 
canned  soups  and  meats,  crackers,  pickles, 
cheese,  butter,  sugar,  pepper,  salt,  tumblers, 
plates,  spoons,  knives,  forks,  two  round 
loaves  of  wheat  bread,  each  about  two  feet 


208       SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

in  diameter  and  a  foot  thick,  and  a  few 
pounds  of  China  tea. 

I  engaged  a  guide  and  interpreter  to  go 
with  us.  He  was  one  of  those  modernized 
young  men,  sprouts  of  "  New  Japan,"  who 
have  discarded  the  graceful  native  costumes 
for  unsuitable  European  clothes.  He  had  a 
faint  moustache,  a  red  cravat,  patent-leather 
shoes,  a  switch  cane,  and  a  cigar-case.  As 
the  man  and  his  belongings  were  an  offense 
to  my  idea  of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things,  I 
soon  found  a  reason  for  dismissing  him.  In 
his  place  I  took  a  natural  Jap,  at  the  price  of 
one  yen  a  day,  and  his  return  expenses  to  be 
paid  back  to  Kiyoto.  He  wore  Japanese 
clothes,  and  knew  his  proper  place  in  the 
traveling  train.  He  said  he  was  a  cook. 
Experience  with  him  on  the  journey  showed 
that  he  knew  how  to  boil  water  and  to  make 
a  pot  of  tea.  He  said  he  could  speak  Eng 
lish  ;  which  was  "  Yes,  master,"  and  "  No, 
master,"  and  a  few  other  words,  uttered  with 
an  articulation  not  easily  understood  by  me. 

After  these  preparations  for  the  journey 
had  been  made,  we  took  the  railway  train  to 
Kiyoto,  where,  on  showing  our  passports  to 
the  gateman  at  the  station,  we  were  allowed 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA       209 

to  pass  into  the  city.  Here  we  were  at  once 
saluted  by  the  cries  of  jinrikisha-men,  each 
man  expressing  by  gesticulations  and  a  few 
English  words  an  eagerness  to  carry  us  with 
our  baggage  and  stores  wherever  we  desired 
to  go.  Though  noisy  and  alert  for  a  trade, 
they  were  respectful  to  us  and  to  each  other. 
They  loaded  our  stores  and  baggage  into  jin- 
rikishas,  while  we  got  into  others,  and  were 
then  whirled  rapidly  away.  A  half-hour's 
ride  through  streets  as  clean  as  a  garden 
walk,  in  which  there  is  never  a  horse  or  a 
beast  of  burden  to  be  seen,  brought  us  to  the 
Maruyama  Hotel,  a  house  on  a  hillside,  over 
looking  the  city,  and  kept  by  a  Jap  in  the 
English  style  of  hotel-keeping,  as  he  compre 
hended  it. 

Our  jinrikishas  left  us  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  We  clambered  up  a  paved  walk,  and 
entered  the  court -yard.  A  bright  Japanese 
boy  came  at  once  to  the  open  door,  and  said, 
"  Good  morning,  gentlemans  !  You  wants  a 
room?  —  eh?"  This  was  Matty,  master  of 
ceremonies,  guide,  interpreter,  philosopher, 
and  friend  to  the  stranger  who  comes  within 
the  gates  of  the  Maruyama.  He  was  the 
handy  go-between,  connecting  the  guests  of 


2io       SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

the  house  and  the  host,  who  was  as  ignorant 
of  our  language  as  we  were  of  his, -the  igno 
rance  of  each  being  a  profit  to  Matty.  On  a 
table  in  the  public  room  I  found  a  small  book 
containing  names  and  notes  written  by  trav 
elers  who  had  tarried  at  the  hotel.  I  noticed 
under  one  of  the  names  this  warning  :  "  Look 
out  for  the  Japanese  boy  that  speaks  Eng 
lish  !  "  This  was  a  warning  of  which  Matty 
was  ignorant  because  he  could  not  read  it. 
So  we  looked  out  for  him  while  he  looked 
out  for  us. 

As  the  house  was  empty  of  guests,  we  had 
a  free  choice  of  its  accommodations.  The 
sleeping-rooms,  which  were  plainly  furnished 
with  American  bedsteads  and  beds,  opened 
by  paper-covered  sliding  doors  upon  a  bal 
cony  high  above  ground,  and  commanded  a 
view  of  the  valley  in  which  Kiyoto  is  situ 
ated.  From  the  balcony  we  could  look  down 
over  the  black-tiled  roofs  of  houses  and  tem 
ples,  over  gardens  and  parks,  and  the  crowded 
streets  of  this  most  interesting  and  pictu 
resque  city  of  Japan. 

We  now  engaged  jinrikishas  and  coolies 
for  the  overland  journey.  We  required  four 
vehicles  for  ourselves  and  the  guide,  with 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A  JINRIKISHA       211 

two  for  the  baggage  and  provisions.  Two 
men  are  to  draw  each  jinrikisha,  one  by  the 
shafts  and  the  other  running  ahead,  in  tan 
dem  style,  harnessed  to  the  carriage  by  a 
cord  which  is  knotted  to  the  shafts,  and 
passes  over  his  shoulder  like  a  collar.  The 
price  to  be  paid  for  each  man,  including  his 
jinrikisha,  is  seven  sen  a  ri.  A  ri  is  about 
two  and  a  half  miles.  The  men  wanted  ten 
sen  ;  but  I  have  learned  not  to  pay  for  any 
thing  the  price  asked ;  for  the  fundamental 
principle  of  trade  in  Asiatic  countries  is  ex 
pressed  in  the  old  maxim :  Let  the  buyer 
look  out  for  himself.  Besides,  seven  sen  a  ri 
was  the  price  paid  for  jinrikishas  running  on 
the  mail-service.  A  sen  is  a  hundredth  part 
of  a  Japanese  yen,  or  paper  dollar.  The  cost 
of  a  paper  dollar  purchased  with  drafts  on 
London  was  about  seventy  cents.  At  this 
rate  each  of  our  jinrikisha  men-horses  re 
ceived  the  value  of  less  than  a  dollar  in  gold 
per  day.  He  furnished  the  carriage,  har 
nessed,  stabled,  grained,  and  groomed  him 
self,  and  was  entirely  satisfied  with  the 
compensation. 

When   these  men   start   upon  a  journey 
with  jinrikishas,  their  dress  usually  consists 


212       SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

of  a  white  cloth  passed  between  the  legs  and 
wound  tight  around  the  waist ;  a  blue  cotton 
shirt,  and  under  it  a  cotton  chest-protector 
hanging  from  the  neck,  and  held  in  its  place 
by  a  strap  buttoning  on  the  back  ;  sometimes 
a  blue  and  white  handkerchief  is  bound  in  a 
twist  around  the  head.  Sometimes  they 
wear  blue  cotton  trousers,  and  sometimes 
none  at  all.  The  feet  are  bare,  or  shod  with 
sandals  made  of  rice  straw.  As  the  men 
become  warm  by  running,  this  clothing 
is  drawn  off,  piece  by  piece,  until  there  is 
nothing  left  upon  the  body  but  the  waist 
cloth.  Those  who  run  with  the  jinrikishas 
are  of  all  ages.  The  forms  of  some  of  them 
are  tall,  erect,  pliant,  and  well  proportioned. 
The  forms  of  others  are  ugly,  the  muscles  of 
their  arms  and  legs  being  developed  in  great 
protuberances,  and  their  bodies  marked  with 
the  scars  of  eruptive  sores  which,  it  is  said, 
this  running  and  hauling  labor  causes.  They 
have  no  intemperate  habits.  They  stop  fre 
quently  on  the  way  at  "  tea-houses  "  to  eat 
rice  and  tea,  always  kept  ready  in  lacquered 
pails  for  service.  At  night  they  wrap  them 
selves  in  a  blanket,  which  is  carried  under 
the  jinrikisha  seat,  with  an  oiled  cloak,  and 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA       213 

go  to  sleep  upon  the  floor.  While  at  their 
work,  they  show  the  cheerful  disposition 
which  is  natural  to  the  race.  There  is  no 
envious  rivalry  among  those  who  are  travel 
ing  in  the  same  train  ;  but  as  they  run  they 
chat  with  each  other  and  bandy  compliments. 
They  yield  the  lead  of  the  train  to  that  one 
of  their  companions  who  first  takes  it,  and 
never  press  him  to  go  faster  in  order  to  com 
pel  him  to  keep  the  place.  Indeed  they 
appear  to  be  versed  in  all  "  the  small  sweet 
courtesies  of  life." 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a  bright 
April  day  we  began  to  load  our  luggage,  our 
stores,  and  ourselves  into  six  jinrikishas, 
bound  for  Yokohama.  Some  of  these  vehi 
cles  were  more  roomy  than  others ;  and  it 
was  a  question  which  each  traveler  had  to 
decide  for  himself,  whether  it  will  be  more 
comfortable  to  ride  fifty  miles  to-day  in  this 
jinrikisha  or  in  that  one.  Then  all  the  lug 
gage  was  sorted,  packages  were  condensed, 
and  the  whole  was  stowed,  unstowed,  and 
stowed  again,  in  order  that  the  load  might 
balance,  so  that  no  weight  should  fall  upon 
the  man  in  the  shafts.  At  last  the  confu 
sion  incident  to  the  beginning  of  such  a  jour- 


214      SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

ney  was  ended.  Each  one  of  us  was  seated 
in  his  jinrikisha,  the  runners  stood  in  the 
shafts,  the  leaders  in  the  leading  cords,  and 
I  gave  the  signal  to  start. 

"  Sayonara  !  "  -  Farewell  —  we  shouted 
to  those  we  were  leaving ;  and,  turning  our 
backs  on  Matty,  who  ran  after  us  with  a 
package  of  salt  belonging  to  our  stores,  as  if 
he  would  sprinkle  the  tail  of  our  caravan  in 
the  expectation  of  catching  us  again,  we 
trotted  down  the  hill  in  a  single  line,  and 
passing  at  a  good  pace  through  the  streets 
of  Kiyoto,  we  were  soon  rolling  over  the 
great  public  highway,  the  old  thoroughfare 
of  ancient  Japan,  —  the  Tokaido.  It  is 
thronged  with  Japanese  travelers  going  in 
opposite  directions  ;  men  and  women,  some 
of  them  with  babies  strapped  upon  their 
backs ;  little  babies  looking  at  the  busy 
world  over  their  mothers'  shoulders.  Some 
travelers  are  riding  in  jinrikishas,  but  the 
multitude  are  on  foot ;  some  are  carrying  a 
bamboo  staff,  a  parcel  tied  up  in  a  blue  cot 
ton  cloth,  and  the  ever-present  umbrella, 
with  which  they  shade  their  heads  from  the 
sun.  No  one  wears  a  hat,  and  as  for  bon 
nets  or  milliner's  head-dresses,  no  place 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA       215 

could  be  found  for  such  a  thing  upon  the 
head  of  any  woman  born  in  Japan. 

Not  a  horse,  nor  a  cow,  nor  any  beast  of 
burden  was  to  be  seen  on  the  Tokaido.  We 
met  post-runners  and  messengers  with  dis 
patches  striding  along  the  road,  carrying 
their  packet  of  letters  or  papers  tied  to  the 
end  of  a  long  bamboo  stick  which  rested  on 
their  shoulders.  We  met  bare-legged  men 
trundling  barrows  ;  others  carrying  baskets 
filled  with  fresh  clover,  flowering  plants,  or 
anges,  sweet  potatoes,  radishes,  fish,  billets 
of  wood,  straw-bound  packages  of  rice,  char 
coal,  and  various  wares  intended  for  the  city 
market.  Others,  grunting  a  guttural  chant 
which  sounded  like  the  words,  "  Heave-o- 
lugga  !  Heave- o-lugga  !  "  to  which  they 
walked  in  a  slow  step,  were  toiling  along 
with  boxes  and  casks  of  merchandise,  sus 
pended  in  rope  slings  from  large  bamboo 
sticks  supported  on  their  shoulders.  An 
hour's  run  of  seven  miles  brought  us  to  the 
town  of  Otsu,  at  the  foot  of  Lake  Bewa, 
where  we  rested.  All  the  way  we  met  a  con 
tinuous  stream  of  travelers  thronging  the 
Tokaido.  And  so,  during  each  day  of  the 
journey,  we  were  in  company  with  detach- 


216       SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

ments  of  the  itinerant  multitude  going  east 
and  going  west,  a  bright  panorama  of  active 
life  which  appeared  to  have  no  end.  At 
night  we  pulled  up  at  a  yadoya,  or  public 
inn,  where  our  guide  was  allowed  to  cook 
our  meals  on  the  public  braziers  over  a  fire 
of  charcoal,  and  we  were  permitted  to  make 
ourselves  at  home,  as  if  we  were  the  lords  of 
the  manor.  Here  we  slept  in  our  own  blan 
kets  in  rooms  floored  with  straw  mats,  and 
walled  by  sliding  paper  sashes,  and  lighted 
by  a  shaded  oil  lamp.  Sometimes  the  sashes 
were  gently  moved  aside,  and  a  young  Jap 
anese  face  peeped  in  ;  for  we  were  objects  of 
curiosity  to  the  inmates  of  the  house  as  much 
as  they  were  to  us. 

Every  town  has  its  jinrikishas  and  jin- 
rikisha  men,  for  hire.  Our  first  jinrikisha 
team  ran  a  distance  of  one  hundred  miles,  in 
the  first  two  days  of  the  journey,  between 
the  hours  of  eight  in  the  morning  and  six 
in  the  evening,  stopping  frequently  on  the 
road.  At  the  end  of  the  second  day  the 
men  appeared  to  be  as  fresh  as  when  they 
started  from  Kiyoto.  Some  of  them  would 
go  no  farther,  being  desirous  to  return  home  ; 
others  wanted  to  go  through  to  Yokohama. 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA       217 

On  account  of  disagreements  I  found  it 
advantageous  to  change  men  and  carriages 
every  day,  hiring  those  belonging  to  the  dis 
trict  in  which  we  were  traveling.  On  the 
fifth  day  of  our  journey,  the  men  drew  us 
sixty-four  miles,  without  showing  any  fa 
tigue,  and  on  one  stage  of  this  day's  journey 
they  traveled  eight  miles  in  an  hour.  It 
was  a  bright,  cool  day  ;  I  noticed  that  wheat 
in  the  fields  was  headed,  clover  was  tall,  and 
azaleas  were  in  bloom.  I  noticed  also  many 
square  lots  of  fallow  earth,  covered  with  shal 
low  water  and  studded  with  rice  stubble. 
There  were  many  plantations  of  tea  on  the 
roadsides,  in  which  men  and  women  were  at 
work.  Arrived  at  Yeshiri,  after  sunset,  we 
found  the  public  inns  full  of  noisy  travelers  ; 
so  we  rode  to  the  headquarters  of  the  police, 
and  showing  our  passports,  we  requested  to 
be  furnished  with  lodgings  for  the  night. 
An  officer  was  detailed,  who  conducted  us  to 
the  house  of  a  private  family,  which  gave  for 
our  use  their  second  floor,  the  attic,  consist 
ing  of  one  large  room.  Here  our  beds  were 
made  on  the  floor;  our  supper,  cooked  by 
the  assistance  of  the  family  down-stairs,  was 
spread  on  small  lacquered  tables ;  and  the 


218       SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA 

dark-eyed  daughters  of  the  house  came  up 
stairs  and  sat  on  the  floor  beside  us,  smiling 
to  see  the  foreigners  eat  bread  and  butter. 

The  villages  through  which  the  Tokaido 
runs  keep  the  highway  clean  and  free  from 
obstructions.  I  consider  this  hard,  smooth, 
dustless  highway  to  be  an  indication  of  a 
high  state  of  civilization  in  Japan.  On  each 
side  of  it,  telegraph  wires  are  supported  by 
neat  tripod  poles,  on  which  are  painted  the 
numbers  in  both  Japanese  and  Arabic  fig 
ures.  Day  after  day,  as  we  traveled,  I  no 
ticed  that  the  out-door  occupations  of  the 
people  were  drying  fish,  drying  teas,  sowing 
rice,  bleaching  laces,  spinning  and  weaving 
cloths  ;  and  I  saw  them  in  every  village  dye 
ing  blue  cottons,  which  are  universally  worn, 
and  stretching  the  cloth  on  frames  to  be 
dried  by  their  house-doors. 

At  one  point  of  our  journey  we  abandoned 
the  jinrikishas,  and  took  a  large  sail-boat  to 
cross  the  wide  ferry  at  Arai.  The  wind  was 
light,  the  tide  was  against  us,  and  we  arrived 
at  the  further  side  after  dark.  No  jinriki 
shas  were  waiting  for  us.  I  stood  on  the 
beach,  shouting  for  them  long  and  loud.  At 
last  the  cry  reached  the  sleepy  ear  of  the 


SEVEN  DAYS  IN  A   JINRIKISHA       219 

little  village;  and  jinrikisha  men  rallied  to 
meet  us.  That  night  we  rode  until  nine 
o'clock,  with  paper  lanterns  hanging  on  our 
shafts,  according  to  law.  The  next  after 
noon  we  again  abandoned  the  jinrikishas  to 
cross  a  mountain  on  foot,  the  road  being  too 
steep  for  vehicles.  Reaching  Mishima,  we 
exchanged  jinrikishas  for  kagas.  These  are 
open  baskets,  suspended  from  poles  rest 
ing  on  the  shoulders  of  men ;  and  in  these 
our  train  was  carried  up  the  precipitous 
mountains  of  Hakone.  It  was  long  after 
dark  when  we  arrived  at  the  inn  by  Hakone 
Lake  ;  our  arrival  being  in  the  shape  of  a 
triumphant  procession,  in  which  flaming 
bamboo  torches  were  carried  by  men  walking 
on  each  side  of  the  kagas  to  light  the  way. 
The  next  afternoon,  after  descending  the 
other  side  of  the  mountains,  we  resumed 
jinrikishas,  and,  as  we  approached  Yoko 
hama  from  Odawara,  where  we  slept  on  the 
seventh  day  of  our  journey,  we  met  horses 
on  the  road,  and  English-built  vehicles,  and 
persons  in  European  dress,  and  many  indi 
cations  of  our  approach  to  those  foreign 
influences  which  are  destroying  picturesque 
Japan. 


Of  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


COLONIAL  TIMES  ON  BUZZARD'S  BAY. 

BY  WILLIAM    ROOT   BLISS. 
Crown  8vo,  gilt  top,  illustrated.     Price, 


THE  SECOND  EDITION,  enlarged  by  new  and 
interesting  matter.     This  book  is  readable  from 


beginning  to  end.  Its  vivid  pictures  of  home 
spun  life  and  manners  in  the  Plymouth  Colony 
are  drawn  by  a  skillful  hand.  The  shores  of  Buz 
zard's  Bay  are  repeopled  with  colonial  farmers 
and  fishermen,  parsons  and  justices  of  His  Ma 
jesty's  peace,  church  gossips  and  penitent  sin 
ners  ;  their  manuscripts  are  quoted,  their  account- 
books  are  examined  ;  the  reader  can  see  how  they 
lived  and  acted,  and  can  survey  them  as  they 
surveyed  themselves. 

Published  by 
HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

4  PARK  ST.,  BOSTON  ;  1 1  E.  I;TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK  ; 
28  LAKESIDE  BUILDING,  CHICAGO. 


Extracts  from  Letters  Received, 

.  .  .  Last  summer  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  strike  your 
"  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay."  It  has  ever  since  been 
my  intention  to  write  to  you  to  express  my  keen  appreciation 
of  the  book,  which  has  in  it  more  of  the  salt  sea  flavor  of 
Cape  Cod  soil,  combined  with  a  more  sympathetic  appreci 
ation  of  the  humors  and  individuality  of  Colonial  New  Eng 
land  life,  than  any  other  of  the  innumerable  and  inconceiv 
ably  prosaic  attempts  that  I  have  met  with. 

Quincy,  Mass.  CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS. 

...  I  have  read  your  "  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's 
Bay  "  with  care,  and  I  thank  you  most  sincerely  for  the  ser 
vice  you  have  done  to  that  corner  of  the  Old  Colony.  I  am 
impressed  again  with  the  charm  of  the  story  as  you  have 
painted  it,  and  with  the  faithfulness  of  your  expression  of 
the  characteristics  of  the  region  as  I  knew  it.  I  am  very 
glad  of  every  enlargement  which  I  find  in  this  new  edition; 
I  know  no  book  of  the  kind  which  is  so  well  done. 

FRANKLIN  B.  DEXTER. 

Yale  College,  New  Haven,  Conn. 

.  .  .  You  have  made  a  success  in  your  "  Colonial  Times 
on  Buzzard's  Bay."  Your  eye  for  the  facts  and  your  touch 
in  description  are  so  rare  that  the  picture,  as  you  leave  it, 
is  quite  perfect, —  an  unspoiled  photograph  of  the  real 
scenes  and  people.  Such  books  are  not  often  made,  and 
their  value  to  the  scholar  and  interest  to  readers  will  grow 
as  time  passes. 

Washington,  D.  C.  EDWARD  C.  TOWNE. 

...  I  have  just  read  your  "  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's 
Bay,"  and  want  to  thank  you  for  the  pleasure  it  has  given 
me.  I  read  it  with  avidity ;  it  held  me  fast  until  I  had 
finished  it.  It  is  the  manner  in  which  the  small  affairs 
of  our  New  England  towns  are  presented  that  makes  them 
engaging  or  dry  as  dust.  You  have  hit  the  manner  and 
method. 

Newcastle,  New  Hampshire.  JOHN  ALBEE. 

...  I  have  seldom  read  a  book  with  more  interest  than 
your  "Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay  ;  "  although  I  am 
grieved  to  find  that  one  of  my  own  name  should  have  fur 
nished  one  of  the  few  instances  of  profanity  that  marred  the 
Wareham  records,  and  that  another  had  his  ears  rubbed, 
with  other  indignities,  at  the  hands  of  one  Bourn.  I  make 
my  regular  pilgrimages  to  the  shores  of  Buzzard's  Bay,  and 
shall  always  be  grateful  for  your  book  at  such  times. 

ist  Lieutenant  jth  U.S.  Cavalry,  EBEN  SWIFT. 

Fort  Reno,  Indian  Territory. 


...  I  picked  up  on  the  library  table  of  the  club,  this 
evening,  your  delightful  book,  "  Colonial  Times  on  Buz 
zard's  .Bay  ; "  and  I  wish  to  tell  you  how  much  I  have  en 
joyed  reading  it.  It  seems  as  if,  as  a  boy,  in  Woodstock, 
Connecticut,  I  have  talked  to  the  very  people  you  describe 
in  your  book.  CLARENCE  W.  BOWEN. 

The  Hamilton  Club,  Brooklyn,  New  York. 

.  .  .  I  have  read  your  "Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay  " 
with  very  great  interest.  There  is  a  quaint  old-world  flavor 
about  it  which  to  me  is  most  pleasant  and  agreeable,  and 
I  am  very  glad  to  have  it  in  my  library. 

The  Manse,  Bedford,  England.  JOHN  BROWN. 


' 


Extracts  from  Notices  in  the  Press, 

From  the  New  York  Evening  Post. 

It  is  a  vividly  told  description  of  life  in  southern  Massa 
chusetts.  Its  tale  of  the  simple  doings  of  a  New  England 
hamlet  in  the  last  century  will  seem  commonplace  enough 
to  those  unchanging  old  Yankee  fanners,  and  they  will 
receive  it  with  the  tolerant  but  superior  smile  which  they 
accord  to  the  vagaries  of  the  city  seeker  for  spinning-wheels 
and  old  brass  candlesticks.  But  for  the  summer  sojourner 
there  is  a  delightful  charm  about  Mr.  Bliss's  animated  nar 
rative  of  the  olden  time  which  amply  accounts  for  the  PODU- 
larity  which  is  being  accorded  to  it. 

From  the  Boston  Daily  Transcript. 

It  is  a  series  of  most  charming  pictures  of  old-time  life,  a 
New  England  idyl  and  poem  in  prose.  It  has  not  a  dull 
page,  is  full  of  vivacity,  and  the  style  is  chaste  and  schol 
arly.  The  south  shore  of  Buzzard's  Bay,  in  general,  is  well 
known  to  summer  tourists.  They  will  find  no  more  charm 
ing  book  than  this  of  their  favorite  haunts. 

From  the  Boston  Traveller. 

No  more  charming  volume  has  been  recently  published 
than  "  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay."  Mr.  Bliss  has 
used  the  old  records,  to  which  he  had  access,  with  a  rare 
skill.  He  has  clothed  these  skeleton  statements  with  flesh 
and  made  them  instinct  with  life  and  spirit.  No  more  de 
lightful  picture  of  old-time  New  England  life  has  yet  been 
drawn,  and  the  chapters  are  gems  in  the  way  of  description 
and  vivid  suggestion. 


From  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Bliss  is  a  zealous  antiquary  who  has  a  considerable 
literary  gift,  and  consequently  his  picture  is  both  accurate 
and  charming.  The  life  it  reveals,  however,  is  not  charm 
ing.  Its  best  characteristics  were  shrewdness  and  thrift. 
It  is  impossible  not  to  smile  over  the  evidence  to  these 
qualities  contained  in  the  charge  to  a  hired  man  for  time 
lost  on  account  of  "fever  and  ago,  four  fites  one  week  and 
three  the  next." 

From  the  Boston  Herald. 

No  person  can  feel  that  he  really  knows  early  New  Eng 
land  life  who  has  not  read  this  work.  Its  preparation  has 
engrossed  the  leisure  hours  of  the  author  for  many  years, 
and  he  gives  almost  sacred  character  to  a  portion  of  the 
New  England  coast,  which  has  now  become  attractive  to 
summer  residents  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 

From  the  New  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

Mr.  Bliss  here  proves  that  the  story  of  a  town  in  the 
hands  of  a  competent  delineator  like  himself  is  well  worth 
telling.  The  languid  novel-reader  will  find  more  in  the 
pages  of  this  volume  to  entertain  him  than  in  many  a  much 
praised  work  of  professed  fiction.  "  The  Town's  Meeting 
House,"  "The  Town's  Minister,"  "  The  Town's  School 
master,"  "Town  Life  in  the  Revolution,"  "The  Town's 
Bass-viol,"  and  "  Final  Transformations,"  arefarpleasanter 
in  the  perusal  than  some  chapters  of  romance  which  has  a 
large  sale. 

From  the  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

Mr.  Bliss's  work  differs  from  the  majority  of  books  based 
upon  colonial  manuscripts  in  that  it  has,  besides  its  anti 
quarian  interest,  a  distinct  literary  character,  and  that  lifelike 
quality  which  results  from  the  author's  complete  absorption 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  times  concerning  which  he 
writes.  His  book  reflects  the  talk,  the  manners,  and  the 
spirit  of  those  days,  and  gives  what  is  probably  as  faithful 
a  picture  of  life  in  any  one  of  the  New  England  colonies  as 
in  that  of  Plymouth.  It  forms  one  of  the  most  entertain 
ing  contributions  to  our  colonial  history. 

From  the  Brooklyn  (N.  K)  Times. 

Colonial  times  are  not  so  very  many  years  behind  us,  yet 
this  reproduction  by  Mr.  Bliss  of  the  social  life  of  our  ances 
tors  reads  like  the  tale  of  another  people  in  the  far-distant 
past.  Frequent  quotations  from  the  old  records  make  the 
picture  almost  photographic  in  its  details. 


Front  the  Chicago  Tribune. 

Besides  being  a  capital  presentation  of  the  way  our  sturdy 
ancestors  of  colonial  days  lived,  acted,  thought,  behaved,  and 
misbehaved,  the  book  is  replete  with  valuable  historical 
information  of  special  interest  to  certain  well-known  fami 
lies  like  the  Thachers  and  Fearings,  and  to  the  general 
reading  public.  The  work  is  bright,  well-written,  and 
wholesome,  and  will  be  particularly  enjoyed  by  all  who  have 
chanced  to  pass  a  summer  at  or  near  Buzzard's  Bay. 

From  the  Newark  (N.  /.)  Daily  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Bliss  has  reconstructed  a  vivid  and  undeniably  truth 
ful  picture  of  colonial  life,  lie  has  followed  the  quaint 
language  and  unique  orthography  of  the  colonists.  But  his 
own  narrative  is  judiciously  mingled  with  these  citations. 
The  result  is  a  most  agreeable  book,  whose  principal  charm 
is  picturesqueness  of  detail  and  a  historical  accuracy  so 
obvious  and  vivid  that  a  skillful  novelist  might  here  find 
ample  materials  for  the  background  and  mise  en  sctne  of  a 
novel,  whose  characters  should  be  of  the  colonists  of  Buz 
zard's  Bay. 

From  the  Utica  (N.  Y.)  Morning  Herald. 

The  reader  is  taken  into  the  heart  of  the  families,  the 
bar-room  of  the  tavern,  the  assemblies  at  the  town  meetings, 
the  husking  bees  and  paring  bees,  and  is  made  to  see  the 
people  in  their  daily  walk  and  conversation.  When  the 
book  is  closed,  after  the  enjoyment  of  perusal,  the  reader 
feels  intimately  acquainted  with  the  whole  circle  who  lived 
in  "Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay."  As  a  chapter  of 
history,  as  a1  portraiture  of  scenery  and  character,  it  is  a 
literary  gem. 

From  the  Titusville(Pa.)  Morning  Herald. 

The  writer,  Mr.  William  Root  Bliss,  throws  the  glow  of 
romance  around  crabbed  records  by  the  charms  of  a  poetic 
style,  by  the  genial  sympathy  of  a  true  antiquarian. 

From  the  Independent,  New  York. 

The  volume  is  one  of  very  great  merit,  and  its  reading  is 
none  the  less  enjoyable  for  the  humor  that  lends  a  quiet 
glow  to  the  author's  style,  or  breaks  in  occasionally  upon 
his  sober  passages.  The  love  which  guides  his  pen  is  un 
affected  and  strong  enough  to  warm  his  pages,  but  it  has  the 
earthly  quality  of  Keats's  verse,  and  depends  for  its  charm 
on  the  simple  fascination  of  a  natural  presentation.  Mr. 
Bliss  is  no  censor,  and  certainly  no  satirist.  His  pages  are 
bright,  sympathetic,  and  rich  in  humorous  examples,  for 
proof  of  which  we  must  commend  our  readers  to  them. 


From  the  Christian  at  Work,  New  York. 

A  complete  and  most  interesting  picture  of  the  old  colo 
nial  times  in  that  section  of  the  Plymouth  Colony  lying  on 
the  shores  of  Buzzard's  Bay.  So  vividly,  and  with  such 
graphic  force,  have  these  times  been  reproduced  in  these 
pages,  that  we  seem  to  be  living  them  over  ourselves.  To 
say  that  it  is  an  interesting  book  is  to  say  but  little,  —  it  is 
a  charming  one. 

From  the  Christian  Union,  New  York. 

Mr.  Bliss  sketches  with  a  firm  hand  a  picture  of  old- 
fashioned  life,  character,  and  society  as  they  were  formerly 
to  be  found  on  the  shores  of  Buzzard's  Bay.  He  has  con 
ceived  and  illustrated  it  with  real  literary  insight  and  felicity. 
He  has  used  his  materials  with  such  skill  and  infused  so 
much  humor  and  human  interest  into  his  work  as  to  give 
his  narrative  much  of  the  charm  of  a  story,  so  that  it  be 
comes  in  a  sense  the  romance  of  the  life  of  an  old  town. 

From  the  Congregationalist,  Boston. 

We  have  enjoyed  "  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay," 
very  much.  It  contains  many  quaint  and  amusing  facts, 
and  is  written  picturesquely.  It  is  pervaded  by  the  flavor 
of  antiquity  in  an  unusual  degree,  without  being  at  all  dull. 

From  the  Churchman,  Ne~w  York. 

It  is  well  done  and  is  full  of  the  interest  which  attaches 
to  a  life  long  since  entirely  passed  away.  Mr.  Bliss  has 
evidently  taken  great  delight  in  his  work,  and  his  success 
approves  his  pains. 

From  the  New  York  Evangelist. 

It  is  a  lovely  picture  of  a  quaint  and  individual  people. 
The  discipline  of  Abigail  Muxom  for  "  talking  and  joaking 
like  young  people  "  with  a  man  not  her  husband,  shows  up 
in  contrast  to  the  society  newspapers  of  to-day  about  as 
sharply  as  does  the  beating  of  the  town  drum  by  the  sexton 
to  call  the  people  to  church,  with  the  recent  contention  as 
to  the  silencing  of  church  bells.  Altogether  it  is  a  charm 
ing  book. 

From  the  New  Englander. 

The  writer  of  this  book  has  been  so  successful  in  what 
he  has  attempted  that  even  those  who  have  never  seen  the 
picturesque  scenes  which  he  describes  —  the  fine  wood 
lands  "with  soft  brown  silence  carpeted,"  the  rivers  and 
ponds,  the  sedgy  field  brooks  —  will  read  these  daintily 
printed  pages  with  interest,  and  learn  to  share  with  the 
author  some  of  the  feelings  which  have  given  him  inspira 
tion. 


From  the  London  Times. 

"  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay  "  shows  how  slightly 
the  habits  of  these  simple  and  strait-laced  communities 
have  changed  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  centuries.  Like 
Dr.  Jessop's  reconstruction  of  mediaeval  society  in  our  own 
eastern  counties,  it  is  founded  entirely  on  contemporary 
records,  kept  and  preserved  with  great  care. 

From  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 

"  Colonial  Times  on  Buzzard's  Bay,"  by  William  Root 
Bliss.  The  appearance  of  a  second  edition  of  this  book 
gives  us  another  opportunity  to  commend  the  painstaking 
and  affectionate  labor  which  has  taken  material  somewhat 
scorned  by  the  historian,  or  used  only  with  unpalatable  dry- 
ness,  and  has  constructed  a  most  readable  account  of  a  cor 
ner  of  New  England.  The  new  chapters  on  The  Squire, 
and  Impressments  for  the  King,  are  distinct  additions,  and 
of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  the  book. 


This  book  is  for  sale  by  booksellers,  and 
•will  be  sent  to  any  address,  postpaid, 
by  the  publishers,  on  receipt  of  the  price 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


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THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
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OVERDUE. 


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